


études

by jemmasimmmons



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Amélie AU, Baby Fic, Canon Divergence, Christmas fic, Multi, Period Drama AU, Pregnancy, Season 6 Speculation, Star Wars AU, Strictly come dancing au, Team Bonding, actor/director au, canon coda, framework speculation, post season three finale, season 4 speculation, season 5 speculation, the hour au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 65
Words: 88,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8350087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmasimmmons/pseuds/jemmasimmmons
Summary: étude: (noun, plural - études) a short musical composition, designed to provide practice material for perfecting a specific technique.
a collection of short stories, prompts and requests from my tumblr.





	1. fs academy stargazing

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons at the academy, written for my friend georgia's birthday.

 

 

‘Look on the bright side.’

‘And what is that, exactly?’

‘There’s really no excuse for us missing chem lab tomorrow morning.’

Next to her, Jemma hears Fitz groan, and a rustle of movement that sounds like him dropping his head onto his knees in despair.

‘Only you, Simmons, could ever consider that the “bright side”.’

They hadn’t been planning on spending their Tuesday night sitting back-to-back against the locked and security-coded door of the Academy’s chemistry block. In fact, the plan they had previously had involved pizza in Jemma’s room and then an intensive study session before they both crashed on her dorm room floor long past midnight, with their limbs tangled over one another in the messy daze that came with sleep.

But lingering too long at their work bench and not having the security clearance to access the wall panels meant that those plans were no longer going to be feasible. Instead, they were looking at spending the night locked inside the building, with only each other and Fitz’s stomach growls for company.

At the sound of another low whine from her partner’s grumbling gut, Jemma wrinkles up her nose.

‘Urgh, Fitz. Can’t you keep your insides quiet?’

‘Hey, you’re supposed to be the biologist; you know I can’t do that.’

‘Actually, your gut becomes far more active when it responds to stress levels and seeing as yours are probably higher than average right now, I’d say that’s why your stomach is sounding less like an internal organ and more like an angry guinea pig. So, lower your anxiety levels and the noises should quieten down.’

Fitz grunts and leans harder into her back. ‘And here I was thinking it was just because I haven’t eaten anything for six hours and my stomach is answering the ham and cheese pizza calling my name.’

With a roll of her eyes, Jemma glances down the hallway of the chemistry block. Over the past few months, the long white corridor with its crisp corners and labyrinth of shining laboratories at the end of it had become almost a second home to her, but at seven o’clock on a December evening even she had to admit that the chill running through the building didn’t make it a very comfortable place to spend the night.

The glowing green sign next to the staircase, however, held the promise of a far more appealing environment to wait for the morning to come.

‘You just need a distraction,’ she declares, and uses Fitz’s back to propel herself up off the ground and spins to hold out a hand to him.

Fitz squints up at her warily. ‘No offence, Simmons, but there are only so many titrations I can take in one day. I really appreciate the offer but…’

‘Fitz, I wasn’t planning to distract you with my chemistry skills, ample though they may be.’

‘You weren’t?’

‘No.’ Jemma beams at him. ‘I actually have something just as good.’

‘Something you think is just as good as chemistry?’ Fitz raises an eyebrow. ‘Now that I need to see.’

He accepts her out-stretched hand and lets her haul him to his feet, pushing himself up so she doesn’t need to work so hard.

As his fingers brush against the inside of her arm, Jemma cannot help but feel a rush of warmth that have nothing to do with the temperature of the building, and everything to do with the touch of his skin on hers.

 

* * *

 

 

‘So…when you said something “just as good” as chemistry…what you really meant was “biology”?’

‘Technically, yes,’ Jemma admits, pushing the door to the building’s roof open in front of them, ‘the roof is used by the biology department for storing vegetation and sample specimens, _but_ it also has outdoor heaters and a swing seat which will be more comfortable to wait out the night on than the floor.’

She turns away from Fitz’s incredulous face to switch on the tall chrome heaters, and feels her shoulders relax ever so slightly as a golden glow starts to light up inside. At least she will be able to warm the two of them, even if she can’t do anything more.

‘Vegetation sounds promising,’ Fitz says from behind her. ‘Hey, aren’t those strawberries…?’

‘Ah!’ Jemma spins on her heel and hurries over to pluck the fruit out of his hand. ‘I really don’t think you want to eat those, Fitz.’

‘Well, given the choice I would definitely prefer a pizza,’ he admits, while Jemma picks up the UV lighter next to the strawberry plant, ‘but seeing as that’s not an option, I’ll take what I can get, and why the _hell_ is that strawberry glowing?’

‘Because the plant was altered with DNA from jellyfish, meaning that after being held under UV light it glows in the dark.’

Fitz blanches. ‘You know, on second thoughts, I’m not actually that hungry.’

He backs away from the green glowing strawberry and turns to fling himself down on the swing seat with a sigh. Jemma puts the UV lighter back on the table and joins him, tucking her feet up onto the seat while Fitz lets his push occasionally against the concrete, gently swinging them back and forth.

Leaning her head back against the seat, Jemma lets her gaze flicker upwards lazily – and gasps.

‘Fitz!’

‘Hmm?’ He looks across at her instantly. ‘What? What’s wrong?’

She points towards the sky. ‘Nothing, nothing, but…look at the _stars_.’

Fitz follows where her finger is pointing up above them. ‘Oh. Yeah. Yeah, there’s a lot of them.’

 _A lot of stars_ , Jemma thinks, is a severe understatement. Back home in Sheffield, she had seen stars almost every night but there had only ever been a smattering, often hid behind cloud and always hindered by the hazy orange light of the street lamps outside. She had filled in the gaps with books and maps as best she could, but nothing could possibly have prepared her for the real thing.

High above her head there is an explosion of light, so much so that the sky is almost more silver than it is black. The stars are hung together in tight clusters, creating ribbons of constellations threading their way across the sky. There are rivers of far-away energy pulled so tightly together by the universe that it has created the stars she can look upon tonight.

It is magnificent, and Jemma cannot help but sigh.

She feels Fitz’s gaze shift back down from the sky and onto her face, where she knows he will see her smile.

‘You like the stars,’ he says, but it’s not a question.

Jemma nods, not wanting to take her eyes off the sky to answer him. The moon is nestled among the stars, a silver slither curved around the clusters like it is a crack in the galaxy for her to peer forward into the next.

‘My dad,’ she says, ‘he taught me a lot about them when I was younger. It was a hobby, really, one we could share. But you never really got many stars in Sheffield.’

‘Well, no, I suppose not. The Academy blocks make sure to lower all internal and external lighting overnight so the light pollution here is much lower, so there are more to see.’

‘There’s so much to see,’ Jemma murmurs.

She can still feel Fitz watching her instead of the sky and yet she still jumps when he taps her on the arm.

‘Show me.’

She blinks and sits up a little straighter, before pointing. ‘Um, you see there, that small curve and then the triangle of stars below it?’

Fitz squints. ‘Yeah.’

‘Well, that’s the Leo constellation.’

‘My star sign.’ There is admiration in his voice. ‘Can you…can you see yours?’

Jemma nods, and leans in closer to him.

She had worried, when he had first asked her, that she wouldn’t be able to pick out the shapes in the sky now she was looking at them for real instead of in a book. But instead, she finds that it is easy and she can pull the constellations out of the dark as if she is threading a silver thread from one star to the next.

‘Mine’s next to yours…right there, see?’

Fitz follows her pointing arm up to the heavens, to the finely spread cluster of stars to the right of the Leo constellation. She watches, as she sees him join up the dots for himself and the stars come to life for him.

A slow smile spreads across his face and when he turns to her, Jemma sees that his grin reaches all the way to his eyes.

‘Show me more.’

And so she does.

She shows him Pegasus, and then tells him the story of the divine stallion, son of the sea-god and the gorgon Medusa. Then, she points to the small cluster that makes up Perseus, and she tells him of the one hero who was happy and his conquests over monsters and the rescuer of Andromeda. She shows him her too.

Halfway through telling him the tale of the archer Orion, Jemma finds her eyelids drooping and her head falls to find its space on Fitz’s shoulder. He hesitates, before bringing his arm up and around her, drawing her in closer.

‘And that,’ she whispers, pointing high. ‘Is Polaris. The North Star. You find that and you’ll always be able to find your way home.’

Fitz gives a hum of appreciation.

‘I like that,’ he murmurs, and his breath is warm on the top of her hair. It tickles, and Jemma finds herself burrowing tighter into him so she can feel the bear of his heart against her chest. ‘Home.’

She tells him more stories, the constellations practically tipping out of the sky towards her now she is picking them out. They are falling stars, and they are falling too fast for her to ever tell him them all tonight.

 _But I don’t have to tell him them all_ , Jemma thinks as she feels Fitz’s head loll ontop of her own, heavy with sleep and allows her own eyes to drift shut too. _Not tonight anyway_.

 _We will have more nights_.

And she will have more stories. She is Scheherazade, except when she tells her thousand and one stories, she does not take them from books.

For him, she will tell a thousand and one stars.

 

 


	2. lancejemma missing scene in 3x10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: anything with lancejemma, written for my friend laura for her birthday.

 

 

There are numbers in her head, and they are ticking away, counting down towards the end of the one life she has always known and the start of the next.

Pacing up and down in a small side room to Zephyr One’s control room, Jemma exhales and presses her fingers to her temples in an attempt to quell the countdown.

It is as futile as she knew it would be but she can’t help the jarring disappointment even so.

The seconds continue to tick away.

A gentle knock on the door brings Jemma’s hands shooting back down to her side and though she tries not to let it, her heart jumps into her mouth and she squeezes her eyes shut.

 _Damn it_.

She takes a moment to steel herself before she goes to open the door.

She had been expecting Bobbi, or Daisy, or even Mack, come to tell her that like so many times before her timing was off and it was time for the world to change already. So it is quite a surprise when she finds Hunter standing in the doorway instead, a small purple pot held in his hands.

Jemma blinks.

‘Oh,’ she blurts. ‘It’s you.’

Hunter clucks his teeth at her. ‘Bloody hell, you’d think you’d get a slightly more welcoming reception after you’ve just rescued a girl from a Hydra summer camp.’

‘I think you’ll find I mostly rescued myself,’ Jemma retorts. _With a little help from…_

She quickly squashes the thought as her stomach twists unpleasantly.

Hunter is looking at her with a mixture of amusement and pride on his face. ‘Hmm. I suppose you did, didn’t you, sunshine?’

Jemma starts to roll her eyes but halfway through a thought hits her like a bucket of cold water thrown over her head.

‘Is it…’ She hesitates, suddenly afraid of his answer. ‘Is it time?’

With a quick shake of his head to reassure her, Hunter steps into the room and shuts the door behind him.

‘Nah, we’ve still got a few minutes before the impending doom that is awaiting us hits.’

His tone is light, made so especially for her, but it is still not light enough to lift the heavy implications of his words and he knows it. When he meets her eyes, he offers a half-smile in apology.

Jemma tries to give him one in return and when she fails miserably, she sighs.

‘So why _are_ you here?’

Instead of a comeback, Hunter simply holds out his purple pot to her. Jemma takes it and pulls off the lid to find a stiff white medical cream, with an achingly familiar lavender scent wafting out of it, so strong that it brings tears to her eyes.

She looks up at Hunter, who shrugs.

‘I’ve been in hostage situations before and I know zipties can be a complete pain in the arse. Just  thought you might want some of this, for…um…’ He nods downwards and Jemma follows his gaze to her wrists, and their matching bracelets of red and purple bruises and the cracked blood on her skin that she had completely forgotten was there at all.

Unconsciously, she rubs her jacket sleeves across her wrists. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

She expects him to leave after that but instead, he follows her over to the low table and two chairs in the middle of the room and holds out his hand for the pot back, beckoning her with his fingers.

Jemma levels her gaze at him. ‘I can sooth my own wounds, thank you very much.’

‘Sure you can,’ Hunter shrugs again. ‘Doesn’t necessarily mean you have to though.’

She considers this for a moment before cautiously handing him the pot. With a theatrical flick of his wrist, Hunter has the lid off again and dips his finger into the cream, daubing it off on the edge of the pot. Then, he beckons for her again, but less brusquely this time, and Jemma gives him her left wrist.

He is gentler than she would have imagined he’d be, his fingers dabbing carefully over her skin, pressing lighter where her cuts are deeper or her bruises are larger.

‘You’re quite good at this,’ she ventures quietly.

Hunter gives a soft snort through his nostrils. ‘Three baby sisters,’ he says as an explanation. ‘Who liked climbing trees. And five nieces and nephews…who still like climbing trees, as it happens.’

Jemma looks up, interested in spite of herself. In line with his mercenary façade, Hunter has never been very forthcoming about his family, or any part of his life outside of the work he’d done with Agent Hartley or Bobbi.

‘You have sisters?’

‘Mm. Three.’

‘And nieces and nephews?’

‘Three nieces, two nephews.’

‘Has Bobbi met them?’ She is demanding the answers from him now, but the world he is talking about is bright, and simple, and it is a million miles away from the chaos they are facing tonight. And Jemma is desperate to escape to it, even for a few precious seconds.

‘Who, Bob?’ Hunter shakes his head in bemusement then motions for her other hand. ‘Nah. I’ve never taken her to meet them. Mixing this world with their world? Could only end in tears.’

Jemma gets the feeling he isn’t talking about shedding tears over Bobbi eating his sister’s homemade apple pie.

She remembers a phone conversation, and the delicate dance she had performed to avoid a discussion of alien viruses, and another countdown ticking away in her head and skydiving without a parachute.

But then she remembers five Christmases in a row spent alternated between Glasgow and Sheffield and the feel of a head on her shoulder during the long-haul flight home. There is a pang, deep in her gut, and she has to purse her lips tightly together to stop the tears leaking out from her eyelids.

Some things, Jemma thinks, were made to bridge between the two worlds.

‘You should take her,’ she says abruptly and Hunter looks up at her in surprise. ‘Take one day off, take a quinnjet and Bobbi, and take her to meet them.’

He looks doubtful. ‘You think?’

Jemma nods. ‘They’ll love her.’

Hunter snorts in response. ‘Everybody bloody loves her.’

But he is smiling under his snark and Jemma wonders how long it will be before Coulson is having to grant them both a field-day.

Clearing his throat, Hunter stands, and is about to pocket the cream again before he hesitates.

‘Is there, uh…is there anywhere else that you might need to…?’

He trails off, but Jemma catches his meaning easily as her hands trail to her abdomen and further up.

‘Yes, but that part I think I’ll do for myself, thank you,’ she says primly and, though it takes him a moment, Hunter nods and passes her the pot again.

‘Listen,’ he says and Jemma hears the sincerity in his voice. ‘I don’t say this kind of thing a lot, and if you ever tell anyone I’ve said this to you I will deny it profusely, but believe me when I say this now…everything you’ve done today…and actually almost everything I’ve ever seen you do…I think you’re really brave, Simmons. And really bloody brilliant.’

His words bring tears springing again to Jemma’s eyes and for a moment she has to hold herself back from flinging herself at him and sobbing on his shoulder, something she knows neither of them would ever be allowed to live down by the rest of the team and would embarrass both of them equally. Instead, she balls her fists and tries to purse her lips together in a smile for him.

Hunter is just turning around to leave when a biting fear of being left rises in Jemma’s throat and her hand darts out to grasp at his sleeve.

‘Lance, wait.’

At the sound of his first name, he freezes and turns back to her with one raised eyebrow.

Jemma hesitates, feeling her bottom lip quiver against her will.

If you’d asked her even twelve hours ago who she’d be clinging to like he was her life raft in the middle of the ocean, she would have laughed herself into hysterics if you’d suggested it would be Lance Hunter.

But now she was here, and he had soothed her injuries with all the care of the older brother she had never had, Jemma couldn’t imagine it being anyone else. And she couldn’t help but wish he had the power to sooth all of her hurt the same way.

‘Did I…did I do the wrong thing?’

It doesn’t really matter what she is talking about: releasing Doctor Gardner, investigating the portal, leaving Will on the planet in the first place…or even anything before that.  

Hunter almost reels backwards and she immediately watches his expression soften.

‘Nah, sunshine. Nah, you didn’t.’

‘But I didn’t do the _right_ thing, did I?’

‘In situations like this,’ Hunter remarks gently, ‘I don’t think there _is_ a right thing to do.’

Jemma sniffs, and rakes the back of her hand across her face. ‘So what _have_ I done then?’

 _Because I don’t think I know anymore_.

Hunter pauses and Jemma waits as he considers her question, his face creasing up in an expression of unbridled sincerity.

Then, he looks up at her and shrugs.

‘You survived,’ he says simply. ‘And you’ve been bloody good at it too.’

Jemma is just thinking that she might _have_ to fling herself at him for a hug, and embarrass the both of them after all, when a blaring alarm and red light above their heads snaps her out of her stupor and the fear crawls back into her stomach.

Hunter’s face is grim again as he opens the door to lead them both back into the control room.

‘So, ready to face our impending doom, sunshine?’

But as he says it, he reaches out and rubs her shoulder and Jemma finds that it gives her just enough courage to nod for him.

Let’s get this over with.’

Hunter steps back to let her pass him first into the control room and as Jemma moves pass him she thinks she can see pride on his face.

Lance Hunter. Proud of her.

 _Well, that’s quite something, wasn’t it_?

She steps forward and the knowledge that he is walking behind her is enough to keep her brave enough to keep walking.

 

 


	3. concilliabule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: concilliabule, a secret meeting of people who are hatching a plot.

 

 

‘Hey, Tremors? I get that anything that happens in this meeting is on a strictly need to know basis…’

‘Absolutely. It’s top secret. Revealing _anything_ to anybody outside of this room could be the difference between life and death.’

‘Bloody hell, if I’d known that I’d have drafted up a will this morning.’

‘Hunter, shut it. Mack, continue.’

Mack heaved a heavy sigh. ‘While I get that this meeting is of the highest secrecy, what I don’t get is why we have to have it in a _pitch black storage closet_?’

‘Oh, that part’s quite simple,’ Jemma’s voice popped up. ‘When Daisy mentioned that she wanted to have a meeting in particularly private circumstances, this cupboard was the most logical option. You see, the base’s security system is heavily dependent on it’s CCTV cameras, all of which are accessible from the Director’s office…’

‘…but,’ Fitz continued, ‘the camera from this storage cupboard broke this morning meaning that this is currently the only place in the base - aside from the bathrooms - that cannot be monitored. And actually, it’s the first thing I need to fix once this meeting is over.’

‘Speaking of,’ Bobbi’s voice cut in, coming from somewhere ominously above Fitz’s. ‘What’s the meeting even about, Daisy?’

‘Right!’ Daisy cleared her throat. ‘As some of you will know, next Tuesday is Agent May’s birthday and she’s going to be turning-’

A crash and a clatter, followed swiftly by a string of curses from Hunter, drowned out the end of her sentence.

‘Daisy!’ Jemma sounded genuinely horrified. ‘You shouldn’t reveal a lady’s age.’

‘Why not? If we’re going to make a giant banner to hang over the hallway to surprise her, everyone’s gonna know it soon…Hunter, why are you whimpering?’

‘Because I dropped a bloody great tin of paint on my foot, didn’t I?’

‘And I don’t think you just dropped it,’ Mack grunted. ‘I can feel the emulsion bleeding into my damn socks.’

‘Oh, for fu-’

‘ANYWAY,’ Daisy interrupted loudly and deliberately. ‘We need to start making plans. Now, Simmons and I were thinking breakfast in bed to start the day - Simmons has offered to make pancakes -’

‘Blueberry ones, for the antioxidants.’

‘Yeah, okay, thank you, Mary Berry. And then after breakfast-’

‘Whoa, whoa, hold on.’ Bobbi’s voice sounded slightly strained, as if someone’s elbow was pressing onto her chest. ‘Breakfast in bed? Doesn’t May get up at 5am? To get her breakfast to her before she gets up would mean you’d have to start cooking at, like, four-thirty…’

There was quiet, as the reality of this settled on the group.

‘Brunch?’ Jemma suggested sheepishly after a moment. ‘After morning briefing?’

‘Yeah, I guess that could still work.’ Daisy sounded momentarily deflated before another wave of enthusiasm hit. ‘Okay, but after brunch - oh, God, the paint just reached my shoes - _after_ brunch, Bobbi can distract her in the gym with some training…’

A faint groan from Bobbi’s end of the cupboard.

‘…While the rest of us set up the mess hall for a party in the afternoon! We can have music, balloons, dancing…’

‘Uh,’ Fitz broke in anxiously. ‘Have any of us ever actually seen May…dance?’

‘Not exact- Well…we _heard_ her.’

‘And how did she sound?’

‘Not…exactly _May_ -like,’ Daisy admitted reluctantly. ‘Alright, fine. No dancing.’

There was a polite cough and Jemma raised her voice. ‘Mack, I don’t suppose you’d mind lifting your arm off my head, would you?’

‘Oh, sorry, Simmons. I thought you were a shelf.’

‘Evidently.’

‘Cake!’ Daisy burst out, making everyone tucked into the tiny cupboard jump and the paint on the floor squelch under their feet. ‘No breakfast in bed, no giant age banner, no music, no dancing…but we can bake her a birthday cake. Surely none of you have any objections about that?’

Nobody spoke, each considering the proposal in turn. In the end, it was Hunter who apologetically cleared his throat.

‘Not that I, personally, have any problems with cake but, uh…do any of us know what kind of cake May actually _likes_?’

Daisy moaned aloud, and the smack that followed indicated that she’d dropped her head into her hands.

Suddenly, Bobbi let out a particularly high-pitched yelp. ‘Fitz, if you step on my foot once more, I swear to God…’

‘Well, it’s not my bloody fault that this cupboard is too bloody tiny for all of us to be able stand on our own two feet, is it?’

‘Oh, you don’t want to stand on your own two feet? Well, there’s a perfectly good empty shelf right here that could be put to good use, then.’

This time, it was Fitz’s turn to squeak.

‘Oh no, don’t you _dare_ -!’

* * *

 

It was at this point that Melinda May, watching the slow puddle of bright blue emulsion paint grow around her feet, decided that it was time to open the door.

Inside, the group of people whose faces all looked up to meet her reminded her in that moment less of the highly-skilled agents she knew that they were and more of a school of sardines, crammed into their tin with their eyes still frozen wide with shock.

To May’s left, Bobbi was pressed against the shelving unit with her hands clasped firmly under Fitz’s armpits, presumably ready to heave him up onto the first available shelf, if the terrified expression on Fitz’s face was anything to go by. Hunter was to her immediate right, sitting hunched up on-top of a Henry hoover and next to him stood Mack and Jemma, Mack having looped his arm around a shelf behind them so that Jemma had the room to stand. She had tucked herself very neatly into Mack’s side so her head came up just to his clavicle, and her toes were scrunched up as far back behind him as they could go to avoid the paint still spreading on the floor.

Standing right in the middle was Daisy, a small scrap of paper sticking out of her pocket stuffed with even more birthday ideas, who slowly began to peek through her fingers to her supervising officer.

‘Agent May,’ Jemma said brightly, her words muffled slightly by Mack’s shirt. ‘What a surprise.’

May didn’t say anything. Instead, she chose to drink in the sight of all these kids in front of her, covered in paint and crammed into a cupboard, deliberating over how best to make her happy.

 _This_ , May thought, _this is what makes me happy_.

‘Victoria sponge.’

The faces in the cupboard fell blank, and May realised with a pang of unexpected and unbridled affection that she was going to need to elaborate.

‘For my birthday cake, I like Victoria sponge.’

Her agents’ expressions were still shell-shocked, all except for Daisy, who brought her hands away from her face to give May a great, beaming, beautiful smile.

May gave her the slightest of nods in return and turned away from the group. As she did so, she heard Hunter remark behind her back:

‘You know, I’d have thought she was more of a chocolate cake person myself.’

By that time though, May was far enough away from the cupboard to let herself smile.

 

 


	4. lygerastia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: lygerastia, the condition of one who is only amorous when the lights are out.

 

 

Jemma Simmons had not entered the cinema with the intention of using the allotted two hours the film was being projected onto the screen to make out with her boyfriend.

In fact, before the trailers came to a close and the lights above them started to dim, Jemma had been determined to give the film her full and undivided attention. 

Daisy and Bobbi had gone to see it after they’d finished a mission in San Francisco the week before and come home raving about it, and since then Jemma had been desperate to see it too, even just to be able to join in their gushing conversations. When Fitz had asked her where she wanted to go for their fortnightly date away from the base, Jemma had replied with ‘the cinema’ so promptly that he’d seemed a little taken back.

But, he had dutifully agreed to take her to the cinema and booked them tickets to see the film and now here they were on a Thursday night, sitting in the best seats in the middle of the theatre to the back with a bucket of popcorn between them and the promise of an exciting film to entertain them for the next few hours.

And yet all Jemma could think about was the weight of Fitz’s arm against hers and the rise and fall of his chest with the beats of his heart.

She spent the first ten minutes of the film squirming in her seat with her hands placed primly underneath her legs staring straight ahead. The film was full of lights and sounds and had a wonderfully intricate plot, which Jemma tried her hardest to focus on, all the while trying to ignore her overwhelming desire to swoop down and kiss her boyfriend, who was innocently munching on a mouthful of popcorn beside her.

Eventually, she sighed with defeat and leant over the armrest to tap at the back of Fitz’s hand. Wordlessly, he lifted his hand palm upwards so she could link her fingers in with his, allowing her to move even closer to him.

‘Alright?’ he murmured.

Jemma nodded, breathing in the crisp, clean smell of his shirt, and then the deeper, sweeter scent of his skin underneath. ‘Mmhmm.’

‘It’s a good film so far.’ Fitz had brought his mouth up close to her ear to whisper, and his breath tickled at the back of Jemma’s neck, making her shiver.

‘Mmm.’

‘I can see why Daisy and Bobbi liked it.’ On the armrest, he began rubbing small circles on the back of her hand, and Jemma realised that she couldn’t hold off her impulses any longer. ‘And I’m pretty sure I recognise _that_ actor from-’

‘Fitz?’

‘Yeah?’

As he twisted around to look at her, Jemma surged upwards, catching his lips with hers. Fitz started, and his knee jogged the popcorn bucket so it tipped onto the floor with a great deal falling into Jemma’s lap. But then, as her kiss began to tease his mouth open, he relaxed, and brought up the hand that wasn’t holding hers to cup her cheek and draw him closer to her.

Jemma sighed into the kiss, allowing the warmth of Fitz’s touch to spread through her whole body, making her tingle from the tips of her fingers to the bottom of her toes: _finally_.

When she deepened the kiss, bringing her own free hand up to tug at his shirt collar, Fitz gave their clasped hands a quick squeeze in invitation. Jemma felt a shudder of delight run down her spine and she pushed herself up in her seat to try and get closer to him.

But before she could move very far though, the armrest between them got in her way, catching on her ribs. Jemma drew back from the kiss with a gasp, temporarily winded.

Fitz watched her worriedly, letting go of her hand to steady her at her side.

‘You okay?’

‘Yes.’ Jemma nodded, with a slight wince and then a snort of laughter at the absurdity of the situation. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

The worry on Fitz’s face eased into a grin as he watched her try to smother her laughter and he let out a chuckle of his own before clamping his hand over his mouth.

In the seats in front, a woman turned around to glare at them.

‘Shh.’

Somehow, this only made things infinitely funnier to Jemma and she had to bury her head in Fitz’s shoulder to muffle her giggles. She felt Fitz’s shoulders shake silently with laughter before stopping with a shudder.

‘Urgh…oh, God.’

‘What?’ She sat up and cocked her head at him. ‘Was my breath really that disgusting?’

‘What?’ Fitz shook his head and reached out his fingers to briefly touch her cheek. ‘No, no. Your breath is beautiful. It’s just…’ 

He nodded over her shoulder and Jemma twisted in her seat to see where he was looking.

‘Do you think we really look…like _that_?’

Three rows in front of them, a pair of teenagers were latched together like limpets, much to the disgust of the elderly woman next to them. Jemma watched their sloppy kissing for a moment before turning back to Fitz with her nose wrinkled up.

‘No!’ She remembered to lower her voice as she whispered back. ‘No, of course we don’t.’

‘Oh, really? Name three differences.’

Jemma sat up a little straighter in her seat and tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. ‘Well, for starters, I am perfectly capable of sitting in my _own_ chair, thank you very much.’

She watched, as the tips of Fitz’s ears turned pink as he glanced back over his shoulder to the two teenagers who seemed intent on wrapping themselves so close together that they became one being, before continuing: ‘And I like to think that we kiss a little more gracefully than that.’

Fitz snorted. ‘Jemma, trust me, when I’m kissing you the last thing I’m thinking of is how to do it _gracefully_.’

‘And thirdly…well, we’re not teenagers, are we?’

Fitz took a pause to consider this before shaking his head. ‘No, you’re right. We’re not.’

His head dropped to her her shoulder and Jemma sighed, leaning into him. Her eyes found themselves drawn back to the two teenagers, and their gangly limbs and bright eyes. She thought back, to when she and Fitz were their age, with their matching PHDs and dreams about protecting the world that were too big for their shoulders to carry alone.

‘I…I don’t suppose we ever were teenagers.’

‘No.’ Fitz’s voice was quiet. ‘No, we weren’t, were we?’

Jemma was about to say, begrudgingly, that perhaps they should turn their attention back to the film, when suddenly Fitz turned his head towards her and kissed her again, with a new-found fervency and strength that made Jemma gasp when he pulled away.

‘Fitz…what are you doing?’

‘Being a teenager,’ he declared, in a voice so dangerously low that it sent shivers running all the way down her spine.

Jemma felt a rush of delight as Fitz reached across her seat to take her by the waist and guide her across so she was sitting on his lap with her legs latched either side of his. 

Fitz’s grin was broad as she leant down to kiss him again, framing his face with her hands, and as she pressed her smile to his, Jemma hoped that the lights being about would be enough to distract the other cinema go-ers from how remarkably ungracefully she was kissing her boyfriend.

Unfortunately, it was not.

* * *

 

(’So, how was the movie?’

‘Perfectly enjoyable, I believe. Or at least, the half we saw was.’

‘The half you saw?’

‘Mmm.’ Jemma took care not to look Daisy in the eye when she spoke. ‘Unfortunately, Fitz and I had to leave the cinema half-way through.’

‘You _had_ to leave.’

‘Yes. Well, we were asked to leave. It’s more or less the same thing.’

Jemma held her breath and counted the seconds, waiting for the penny to drop and for Daisy’s eyes to widen to the size of saucers.

 _Three, two_ …

‘Jemma Simmons, you absolute _**minx**_!’

 _One_.)

 

 


	5. baisemain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: baisemain, a kiss on the hand.

 

 

'You can't kiss me.'

Of all the things Fitz had thought he might hear as he leant over his wife as she lay in the middle of their bed, that was the last thing he’d expected.

And, actually, he didn’t think he’d ever heard her utter those words before.

He cocked his head and adopted a wounded expression, hand over his heart. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Sprawled out on the bed, a thin layer of sweat gracing her forehead, Jemma managed to roll her eyes. ‘I _said_ , you can’t kiss me.’

(Or at least, Fitz was 99% sure that was what she said. The sleeve she was holding across her mouth and nose was making it rather difficult to make out what she was saying.)

He leant a little closer to her, unable to stop himself from grinning. ‘Oh, really? Do you want to test that hypothesis?’

With a little moan, Jemma used her free hand to feebly push his face away. ‘I mean it, Fitz. You _can’t_. You know how easily respiratory viruses spread, especially through airborne contamination. You shouldn’t even be this close to me, really.’

This time, it was Fitz’s turn to roll his eyes. It was a rare thing for Jemma Simmons to be ill, which meant that he was still unfamiliar with how to deal with it even after nearly fourteen years by her side. What he did know, however, was that an ill Jemma meant an overly anxious Jemma, who tended to sink very deeply into denial that she was even ill at all.

‘Wild horses,’ he declared, ‘couldn’t keep me away from you.’

Jemma tutted, but there was a fondness shining in her eyes underneath their glassy haze. She glanced down at his hands and frowned.

‘Where’s the mask?’

‘Jemma, I’m not going to give you a surgical mask to wear, just because you have the flu.’

‘But if I have the a mask,’ she wheedled, ‘then I won’t have to worry about infecting anyone else, and I can go back to the lab and we can finish-’

 ‘You’re not going back to the lab!’ Fitz groaned in exasperation. ‘I was the one who sent you _away_ from the lab because you _fainted_ -’

‘I did not faint,’ Jemma said primly, tilting her chin up ever so slightly. ‘I simply lost my balance and my conciousness for a moment.’

‘You fainted,’ Fitz decided, ‘because you have the flu and you were tired and because I was enough of an idiot to let you go to work this morning even when I knew you were ill. So, no, I’m not letting you go back to the lab today, or tomorrow for that matter. You’re staying right here until you feel better.’

He had hoped that the firmness in his tone would be enough to show her that he meant what he said, and when Jemma’s shoulders sank back into the pillows behind her Fitz realised he had won. 

(Although how much of that was down to what he’d said, and how much was down to the high temperature she was running, Fitz couldn’t be sure. He hoped it was at least 70/30. Or 50/50, if he was lucky.)

‘Alright.’ Jemma gave a sniff, and he reached behind him to hand her a tissue. She took it, with a watery smile, and blew her nose before continuing: ‘but if I am going to stay here, then I just have one rule.’

‘Oh? And what’s that then?’

She fixed him with a steely expression. ‘You can’t kiss me. Really, Fitz, I don’t want you to get ill too.’

It was only the pleading note in her voice, coupled with the pang he felt deep in his gut, that kept Fitz from arguing back. The more energy she wasted on worrying about him was more energy that she wasn’t using to get better, and since that was his highest priority right now then he would be a fool not to grant her this one thing.

Begrudgingly, he nodded. ‘Okay, fine. Rule made.’

He knew he had done the right thing as he watched her visibly relax, her body sagging back into the mattress and the little frown that had been resting on her forehead disappear.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered with another sniff, and Fitz felt the formation of a lump in his throat as he nodded.

‘S’okay. Just try and get some sleep now, yeah?’

Jemma gave a murmur in reply, brushing her hand over his as she let her eyelids close. It happened so easily that Fitz had to wonder how hard she’d been trying to hold them open during their conversation.

Instinctively, he bent forward, intending to press a quick kiss to her lips in the way that had become second nature to him over the past few years, before remembering. Drawing reluctantly back, Fitz chose to brush a lone strand of hair off her face instead, taking the time to tuck it tenderly behind her ear before lifting himself off the bed and tip-toeing out of the room.

* * *

 

It was later than usual when Fitz finally managed to get back to his and Jemma’s bunk, his day extended by the appearance of a new inhuman in Argentina that Coulson insisted was captured that night. Fitz had helped Daisy and Mack prep the containment unit on Zephyr One and seen then off before being able to turn in for the night.

He shut the door behind him softly, peering anxiously over his shoulder to the bed. Jemma hadn’t stirred since he’d come in which he took as a thankful sign that she was still sleeping. 

Already kicking off his shoes, Fitz padded over to the bed to check on her. He noted that she had a bit more colour in her cheeks, the sheen of sweat gone from her face, and although her breathing was still laboured, it wasn’t any where near as bad as it had been the night before.

Whatever medicine he’d asked Lincoln to give to her that afternoon had obviously been working its hypothetical magic.

Fitz let out a sigh of relief, one he felt he’d been holding in all day, and quickly got changed, throwing on an old t-shirt before carefully peeling back the covers to slide in beside her. Propped up by his pillow, he took the opportunity to gaze down at Jemma’s face again.

He never got tired of looking at her, not now that he could do it so easily and unapologetically. Even now, with her eyes slightly puffy and her nose red, she still managed to be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and Fitz was beginning to regret his earlier acceptance of her rule.

He glanced over Jemma to her bedside cabinet and raised his eyebrows when he noticed her small bottle of hand sanitiser standing next to the lamp. The idea clicked into his head like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle slotting together: maybe there was one part of her he could kiss without danger of getting ill too.

Sliding further down their bed, Fitz took a hold of Jemma’s hand, lying lightly on the sheets next to him. Her skin was warm when he picked it up, but not so hot for him to need to worry about her temperature. Carefully, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a single kiss to its back.

Jemma didn’t stir and, spurred on by the familiar feel of her skin to his lips, Fitz began to kiss each of her knuckles in turn, before getting a little braver and letting his kiss roam further up her hand to her wrist and then her forearm.

It was this, at last, that seemed to wake her and he watched as Jemma blinked her eyes open. When she saw him lying next to her, her mouth stretched into a smile and her fingers closed around his.

‘You,’ she murmured sleepily, ‘broke the rule.’

Her words should have been cross, but there was a softness to her voice and a shine in her eyes when she looked at him that it had taken Fitz ten years to recognise as love.

‘I know I did,’ he whispered back, as Jemma obligingly unfurled her fingers so he could press a kiss to her waiting palm.

‘But when it comes to you, I’ve never been very good at following the rules.’

 

 


	6. daisy/jemma/may, things you said as we danced in our socks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: daisy/jemma/may and things you said as we danced in our socks.

 

 

The kettle lets off a high pitched whistle, cutting through the quiet of the apartment like a knife edge.

Jemma pours the boiling water into three mugs, stirring milk into the two containing tea and leaving the third one, the one filled with coffee granules, without. As she settles them onto a tray to carry them over to the sofas she can feel her heart pressing against her rib cage, thumping hard with the effort it is taking her not to explode.

‘Here we are,’ she says once she reaches the sofas, setting the tray down on the low coffee table and pining a bright smile on her face. ‘Tea for May,’ she passes the older woman her mug, ‘and for Daisy…’

At the sound of her name, Daisy looks up, her eyes taking a moment to focus on Jemma’s face. There is a slight bleakness behind them, a vacancy that does not clear, even when she blinks twice. 

Jemma swallows and smiles again.

‘Your usual,’ she says quietly, offering the mug out to her.

Daisy takes it, staring down at the dark liquid as though she can’t quite recognise the substance in its cheerful, yellow mug painted with sunflowers. She had always taken her coffee black; ‘like my soul,’ she used to joke at the Playground breakfast table, and everyone would roll their eyes but pretend not to notice when Mack pushed the sugar bowl towards her behind the cereal packet. She would dump three teaspoons in before she dubbed the drink acceptable.

Remembering this, Jemma edges her own sugar bowl across the table. Daisy blinks at it, then lifts her mug to her lips and drinks.

Jemma bites her lip before sitting down on the opposite sofa and taking a sip from her own drink. Her eyes shift towards May, sitting neatly next to Daisy with her mug still untouched on the coffee table in front of her. May’s face is unreadable, her hands folded on her lap as she scrutinises the younger girl’s face, like there is a puzzle there she is desperate to solve.

Glancing up at the clock, Jemma notes that it is already eleven pm; at midnight, Fitz will have finished at Radcliffe’s and be setting off for home. She imagines, briefly, his delight at having Daisy back, safely sitting in their living room, and then his poorly concealed shock at how deflated and distant their friend has become. Sighing, Jemma sets her mug beside May’s on the table.

She waits for their mentor, with all her years of experience and of heartbreak, to start speaking, she waits for May’s quiet and familiar voice to rise above their silence, offering Daisy the sentiments she needs to be herself again.

 _Of course she knows what to say. May always knows what to say_.

It is only after another few minutes have ticked by on the clock, and May finally lifts her head to meet her eyes that Jemma understands. When she had knocked on her and Fitz’s door half an hour ago, May had not only been looking for a safe place to take Daisy. She had also, in her own, unspoken way, been looking for help.

And, when Jemma looks again at Daisy’s face, she understands why.

The vulnerable, haunted look her friend wears is so eerily familiar that it is almost a mirror of her own face from only a year ago. The realisation makes tears burn at the back of her throat, tears that Jemma quickly swallows.

Daisy is staring across the room at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that cover a whole wall of the apartment - it had taken Fitz an entire day to put them up and had involved a great deal of swearing and phone calls to Ikea (’It should NOT be this difficult to put up a simple set of shelves, I am a bloody ENGINEER!). Among their many books, Jemma has placed framed photographs. Some are of just the two of them together, but some are of their team. Displayed in such an ordinary setting, some slightly smudged and out of focus, the photographs could almost be of any normal family.

Jemma realises, with a soft start, that Daisy has probably never known a home like this.

Taking a deep breath, she clears her throat.

‘When we first moved in,’ she begins, ‘Radcliffe didn’t have this place anywhere nearly ready for us. There wasn’t an oven in the kitchen, no lights in the bathroom. Barely any furniture. Fitz and I slept on only a mattress for three weeks.’

May laughs, a quiet exhalation of breath through her nose. Daisy doesn’t move, but her eyes have shifted to Jemma’s face, letting her know she is paying attention.

‘We could cope without the lights in the bathroom,’ Jemma continues. ‘And we were mostly fine without furniture too but the oven was a bit of a problem, if I’m honest. I think the Chinese down the road knows us by sight now; we were there so often for our dinner.’

Daisy snorts, the first noise she has made since arriving. ‘I bet Fitz loved that,’ she says.

May’s eyebrows raise briefly, before she recovers herself. ‘His digestive system,’ she remarks, ‘would not have.’ She glances over at Jemma, and her eyes say  _go on_.

‘There was one place, though,’ Jemma says, ‘that Radcliffe had made sure was already _perfect_ for us, even before everything else…’

Daisy takes another sip from her mug before pulling a face and setting it down. ‘Please don’t say the lab…’

‘The lab!’ Jemma finishes, jumping to her feet. She holds out her hand to Daisy across the short distance between them. ‘Do you want to come and look at it?’

Rolling her eyes, Daisy gives an almost indistinguishable shake of the head. ‘No offence, Jemma,’ she tells her, ‘I really don’t need to see your lab.’ 

But even as she says it she is slipping her hand into Jemma’s, allowing herself to be led across the apartment to another bookcase, half concealed behind a large potted plant. Jemma taps a quick code into a control panel hidden inside a copy of Jane Eyre and the bookcase opens, revealing a large, spacious laboratory filled with shiny surfaces and sparkling conical flasks. When she’d seen it for the first time, Jemma had declared it the most beautiful lab they had ever had.

(’You say that,’ Fitz had objected, ‘about every lab we have.’

‘I know I do. And every time I mean it.’)

She tries to hide it, but Daisy’s eyes widen a little and when Jemma steps forward, she follows.

‘It’s a pretty good lab,’ she admits, crossing her arms over her chest. Behind them, May leans against the door frame.

‘Isn’t it?’ 

Jemma bounces nervously on the balls of her feet. She hadn’t really thought what she might do once she had Daisy inside the lab; quite frankly, she hadn’t expected to get her this far. Then, she notices her phone speakers sitting on the end of a bench and an idea lights up inside her mind.

‘On our first night,’ she says, making her way over to plug her phone into them, ‘Fitz and I spent hours in here.’

‘Doing what, exactly?’ Daisy removes her elbows from the bench hastily. ‘Christening the surfaces?’

‘No!’ 

Jemma flushes, but she can’t help a small rush of delight at this small part of the Daisy she knows shine through. She presses play on her phone, and the soft notes of Tchaikovsky‘s Sleeping Beauty begin to fill the room. 

Daisy raises an eyebrow at her and Jemma grins.

‘Take off your shoes.’

‘Excuse me?’

Jemma demonstrates, kicking off her black converses so she is standing in her socks on the slippery tile floor. Daisy’s face contorts thoughtfully, then, with a little shrug, she follows suit. In the corner, Jemma can hear May holding her breath.

‘We spent hours,’ she says, quietly, stepping forward to take Daisy’s hands in her own, ‘doing this.’

One note at a time, Jemma begins to dance, taking Daisy with her across the room. 

To start with it, feels a little awkward, Daisy merely shuffling wherever she is taken, both their feet falling out of time. But after a few minutes they begin to fall into step with one another, their bodies moving freely, and, much to Jemma’s infinite relief, Daisy starts to smile.

Growing a little more confident, Jemma raises her arm to twirl her friend under it, but she can’t quite lift it high enough and Daisy’s head bumps into her elbow, sending them both into a sudden fit of giggles.

‘Okay, okay,’ Daisy laughs. ‘Maybe I should twirl you instead.’

Jemma nudges her playfully. ‘Go on, then.’

With a grin, Daisy does, twirling her with so much enthusiasm that Jemma almost slips in her socks and quickly grabs at her friend’s arm with a little squeak. 

Once there, she doesn’t move away. Instead, she moves closer in, pulling Daisy against her so that she can rest her head on her shoulder. Daisy gives a little sigh, her chin settling into the crook of Jemma’s neck.

‘I never thought,’ she mumbles, ‘that I’d get to be in a lab with you ever again.’

Jemma smiles sadly, rubbing comforting circles on her back. Over Daisy’s head, she meets May’s eyes, watching the two girls sway to the sound of the music.

‘I did,’ she whispers back.

Daisy muffles a sob, her arms tightening around Jemma. It doesn’t feel like she ever wants to let go.

 _You don’t_ , Jemma wants to tell her. _You don’t ever have to let go again_.

‘It’s going to be alright,’ she says quietly instead, resting their two heads together. ‘Maybe not tonight, not if you don’t want it to be. Maybe not tomorrow either, or the day after either. But someday, I promise you, it will be alright again. You’re not alone anymore.’

There is a sharp sniff, and Daisy’s arms squeeze her just a little tighter once more. Smiling, Jemma turns her head and presses a light kiss her friend’s cheek.

There is more that she could say to her, she knows that. But for now, all Daisy needs is to know that she is there. 

 _Always_ , Jemma says silently. _I will always be here_.

‘I think,’ May says from behind them, the suddeness of her voice making both the girls jump, ‘that I’m up for dancing now. But only if you’ve got something a bit more lively, Simmons.’

Jemma feels her face split into a wide grin, and when she glances to one side to look at Daisy, she sees that once again she and her friend are a perfect mirror.

‘I think I can arrange that for you, Agent May.’

‘I have something I need to tell you guys,’ Daisy says, as Jemma steps to one side to change the music (she thinks a little bit of ABBA might be the order of the day).

‘Always,’ May says immediately, echoing Jemma’s earlier, unspoken thoughts.

Daisy takes a deep breath and looks up at them, meeting their eyes one by one, and when she sees the shine there, the unmistakable light that she has always managed to share, Jemma knows, without a shadow of a doubt that things really are going to be alright.

‘I really, _really_ regret not putting sugar in my coffee.’

 

 


	7. part ii to chapter six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: i was asked for a continuation of chapter 6, where fitz comes home and finds the girls together!

 

 

He knows that something is different from the moment he reaches the front door and it is unlocked. Jemma never leaves it unlocked; she is especially vigilant when she is in the apartment alone.

Fitz’s initial anxiety, however, is dispelled when he takes two steps through the door and is met with the sound of laughter, mingling with music. Both of these, he tries to reassure himself, would be unusual sounds to hear during a break in.

‘Jemma?’ he calls, tossing his keys onto the kitchen unit and shrugging off his jacket. 

He has no answer, but the music is coming from the lab, and so he makes his way there curiously. Had he been paying a little more attention to his surroundings, as any good spy should, he would have noticed the twin leather jackets abandoned on the sofa.

Pushing open the door to the lab, Fitz feels a little bit like Alice, stepping through a looking glass into a world mostly like his own, but with everything just a little less real.

Jemma is dancing, her hair spinning out around her as she twirls, her feet bare but for her brightly printed socks. She is dancing with May, _Melinda May_ , who has her arms extended as she moves, the perfect picture of grace and elegance, even as she fights to follow the rhythm of Little Mix’s _Move_.

And then, standing to one side of them with a bottle of beer in her hand and a laugh on her lips, is Daisy.

Her laughter dies as she spots him standing in the doorway, and Fitz watches a sadness wash across her face, one he is sure is reflected on his own. But then, Daisy manages to give him a small smile, half raising her bottle towards him in greeting.

It feels like the world has shrunken to belong to just the two of them in that moment, and Fitz lifts up his hand towards her, as if in a dream.

‘Fitz!’

Finally, Jemma notices that he is watching, and as she hurries up to greet him he sees that her cheeks are flushed pink. Behind her, he sees May stealthily deposit several empty beer bottles into the bin.

 He holds Jemma steady by her waist as she leans up, pressing a delighted kiss to his cheek.

‘I think,’ she says into his ear, ‘that we’re going to need to bring out the spare blankets.’

 

* * *

 

The sleeping arrangements end up being fairly simple. There are only two bedrooms in the apartment, so May takes the spare single room, giving the room full of younger agents one last look before she shut the door for the night.

In an unspoken agreement, Fitz and Jemma ecide that he will spend the rest of the night on the sofa with a blanket, while Daisy takes his space in bed.

Curled up on the sofa, with his heart hammering against his chest, Fitz’s mind is buzzing as he tries to take in the events of the evening, tries to believe that Daisy really is home once more.

He tosses and turns a few times, then gives up, padding across the living room and quietly opening his bedroom door.

In the bed, Jemma and Daisy’s heads are bent together, dark hair against chestnut, and he gets the impression that they were deep in conversation before he entered.

‘You could at least knock, Fitz,’ Daisy protests as he closes the door behind him.

‘Why would I do that? This is _my_ room that you’ve commandeered, you know,’ he retorts, clambering onto the foot of the bed to squeeze in between them.

‘Yeah, but I could be _naked_ in here!’ Daisy’s eyes boggle at him through the darkness, like a cat’s.

‘I should sincerely hope not, seeing as it’s my girlfriend you’re sleeping next to.’ 

Fitz settles himself in the middle of the bed, Jemma on his left and Daisy on his right. As an after thought, he turns to her, now a little worried.

‘You’re…you’re not actually naked, are you?’

‘No, Fitz,’ Jemma sighs, reaching out an arm to straddle his chest. ‘Of course she’s not naked.’

The three of them lie back, all staring up at the same ceiling. Fitz listens, until he can hear each of their breaths individually. He wonders how it is possible that they all sound so different.

‘That sounds really nice when you say it,’ Daisy says quietly after a minute.

‘What, _naked_?’

That earns him a thump to the arm from both sides.

‘No,’ Daisy says, as he rubs at both his forearms ruefully. ‘Girlfriend. It sounds really nice when you call her your girlfriend.’

Fitz can feel Jemma grinning, her mouth pressed to his shoulder.

‘Yeah,’ she says quietly. ‘I think it sounds really nice too.’

‘I’m happy for you.’ Daisy pushes herself up onto her elbow, so that she is above them looking down. ‘Seriously, guys. Whatever…whatever might have happened before I…before I _left_ , I am happy for you. Always will be.’

Jemma’s hand reaches across him to Daisy and he feels her squeeze her arm. ‘We missed you,’ she whispers into the dark. ‘Every day.’

Fitz nods in agreement, hoping that Daisy can feel it against the pillow.

‘I missed you guys too,’ she murmurs, the hint of a quiver in her voice, ‘so, so much.’

‘We’re so happy that you’re back though,’ Jemma says quickly, before the quiver can turn into tears. ‘Nothing felt quite right without you.’

‘Yeah,’ Fitz adds, nudging Daisy gently with his shoulder. ‘Feels like our little family is finally back together again.’

He hears a muffled sob on his right, but before he can say anything else to halt her tears, Daisy’s head drops to his shoulder, her hand curling around his arm. On his other side, Jemma shifts, snuggling in even closer to him.

With the additional warm pressures on either side of him, and the world feeling like it is back in perfectly imperfect balance once more, Fitz closes his eyes and allows himself to sleep.

 

 


	8. fitzsimmons, things you said before you died

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons and things you said before you died.

 

 

‘No. Oh, no. No, no, no no.’

‘Hey…’

‘Shh. Stop talking. Not another word.’

‘But I have to. I have to tell you something, while we still have the time.’

‘ _No_! No, you don’t get to do this, not to me. Not after everything we’ve been through…’

‘And that’s exactly why I have to say it.’

‘No, you _can’t_ …please…please don’t leave me…’

‘You really think that I want to? You are, far and away, the most precious thing in my life, the person that feels like they’re the other half of me, and I know that I probably shouldn’t have left it until my last breath, but, Jemma, I need to tell you this. I love-’

‘ _CUT_.’

Inwardly, Fitz curses, before twisting his head to frown beyond the lights to where the director is sitting off set. He had been perfectly in character, and that had been the best shot he’d done all day. It would take _hours_ for make up to get him looking this peaky and bloody again.

‘What? What was wrong that time?’

He blinks as his eyes adjust to the glare of the floodlights and the crew comes into focus. Sitting on her director’s chair, Jemma uncrosses her legs and sighs.

‘ _Jennifer_ , Fitz,’ she says lightly, although he can see the flush of her cheeks even from where he is lying. ‘Daisy’s character is called _Jennifer_.’

‘So what did I say…?’

But then he remembers with an ‘oh’ and Daisy groans, slapping a hand over her face as she rolls away from where she had been lying across his body, as her character Jennifer wept over her best friend Isaac as he lay dying from a gunshot wound to the chest.

Fitz pushes himself up onto his elbows and meets Jemma’s eyes across the set. Her face is still slightly red and she brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she tilts her head towards him with an exasperated look. Behind her, he can see Mack and Hunter sniggering, and even Bobbi and May have their hands over their mouths to cover their smiles.

Biting his lip, Fitz closes his eyes and lets his head tip backwards onto the floor again.

 _Shit_.

 

* * *

 

‘I think we’re going to have to tell them soon,’ Jemma admits, as they walk hand in hand down the corridor to her hotel room. After a long day of filming, Fitz can’t wait to fall into bed with her and feel their bodies twist together as easily as their fingers do.

‘Really?’ He brings their joined hands up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. ‘I thought you wanted to keep it quiet a little longer.’

‘I do.’ They have reached her door now and Jemma stops, turning to face him with a wry grin on her face. ‘But if you’re going to keep on making slip ups like you did this afternoon…’

Fitz groans. ‘That was _one_ mistake…’

‘…then I don’t think we have much choice, really.’ 

Jemma sinks back against the door, her expression falling thoughtful and sober. Fitz frowns, cocking his head.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘Oh, nothing.’ She shakes her head, unconvincingly, and he reaches up to cup her chin in his hand. ‘Nothing’s _wrong_ , exactly…’

‘Then what…’

Jemma sighs, catching his hands in hers and pulling away so she can look at him. Under the low lights of the hotel corridor, Fitz finds that she quite takes his breath away.

‘If that was happening for real,’ she says hesitantly, ‘if you really were… _hurt_ like that, would you really say my name? Would I really be the first person you thought of?’

Fitz lets out a quiet huff of breath, letting his forehead fall against hers. Just a few months ago, his answer might have been different, but now he cannot imagine telling her anything but the words he is about to say.

‘Jemma,’ he says softly, ‘you would be the _only_ person I thought of.’

She chuckles, with a little shake of her head, and Fitz feels her arms snake around his neck, drawing him closer. He responds for like, pressing his hands gently on her back until there is as little space as possible between them. He can feel Jemma’s breath, sweet and light, on the skin of his neck.

‘You are,’ he whispers, ‘the most precious person in my life…the person that feels like they are the other half of me…’ Here, he feels her start to smile, her lips pressed to his shoulder blade, ‘…and I am so glad that, unlike poor old Isaac, I didn’t wait until my dying breath to tell you that I love you.’

Jemma laughs again, properly this time, and when she looks up at him her eyes are shining.

‘Me too,’ she says, and then Fitz can’t wait any longer to kiss her.

Jemma is still smiling as he brings his lips to hers and the feel of it against his mouth makes Fitz grin too, one arm tightening around her back as the other fumbles behind her to open the door to the room.

The door finally swings open, and Jemma presses an exuberant kiss to his lips in gratitude as he walks her backwards into the room. It is only when the door clicks shut behind them and he glances up into the room that Fitz freezes, nearly dropping Jemma to her knees in his surprise.

‘What the _hell_ -’

Jemma twists in his arms and he watches her eyes grow wide as she takes notice of the gigantic arrangement of flowers resting on the sofa; on a white card in the middle, the word **FINALLY.** is written in big, black, block capitals in Daisy’s handwriting.

Fitz feels his jaw drop as Jemma covers her grin with her hand.

‘I could be wrong about this,’ she says mildly. ‘But maybe we don’t have to tell everyone about us after all. Something tells me they might already know.’

The laughter bubbles up inside Fitz’s chest until he can’t hold it in anymore and then they are both in peals of laughter, his arms around her waist and her mouth against his as they both stagger backwards towards the bed.

Fitz waits until Jemma is lying on her back, her arms reaching up towards him with the faint trace of a giggle still on her lips, before he bends down and kisses her again.

 

 


	9. fitzsimmons, things you said in the backseat of a cab

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons and things you said in the backseat of a cab.

 

 

The party had been in full swing, champagne flowing and music rising, when the sound of the television had caused everyone’s chatter to ebb away to an uneasy silence. 

Jemma had been forcing herself to smile and nod as a particularly dull colleague of Fitz’s engaged her in conversation, but as the news reporter’s voice reached her ears, telling of another bridge downtown demolished by the gifted individual known only as Quake, his words had faded out to only a faint buzz.

She had jumped as she felt Fitz slip his hand into hers, having suddenly materialised by her side and taken her champagne glass from her, setting it down on a nearby table. Jemma had leant back into him, only then realising how much she had sorely missed the feel of his body against hers.

‘Time to go home,’ he whispered in her ear.

Outside, they call a taxi and stand, shivering together on the pavement before it pulls up. They probably could have stepped back inside to wait, but the atmosphere of the party has turned sour now, many people turning their heads to glance their way - whispering about how they still work for SHIELD, murmuring the rumour that they knew Quake personally. Jemma looks up at Fitz and sees how his jaw is clenched tight, and she bites her lip as she climbs into the waiting taxi.

Once inside, they keep holding hands, both drawing comfort from the warmth of the other’s fingers. They are silent too, and Jemma wonders if Fitz is replaying the footage from the news in his mind as well. She had barely been able to make Daisy out, the small blur of black that she had been in the middle of the bridge, but the trail of destruction she had left in her path had let Jemma know it was her, without a shadow of a doubt.

Only Daisy, small though she was, could leave such devastation in her wake.

And only guilt could make a person behave like that.

Guilt, and perhaps love.

Underneath her fingertips, Jemma can feel Fitz’s pulse beating.

‘I am sorry, you know,’ she murmurs.

‘What?’ Fitz had been trying to open his wallet without letting go of her hand; he glances up at her blankly. ‘Oh, don’t be. It’s not like I wanted to go to that thing anyway. It was you who convinced me that we ought to go…’

Jemma shakes her head. ‘Not about leaving the party.’ She leans across and plucks a twenty dollar bill from his wallet, holding it as he zips it back up again. Once he has tucked the wallet back into his pocket, she catches his gaze and holds it. ‘I’m sorry about…about leaving. About going to Hydra when you needed me. I truly am sorry for it.’

Fitz pulls a face, his nose scrunching up and his eyes narrowing. He dislikes talking about that part of their past and always side steps around it when she brings it up, either out of residual hurt or shame; Jemma can never really tell. Maybe it is a little bit of both.

He doesn’t let go of her hand as he admits, ‘it wasn’t like I gave you any reason to _want_ to stay.’

‘You shouldn’t have needed to.’

‘It might have helped.’

Jemma sighs, and lets her head fall onto his shoulder. She squeezes his arm tightly, and feels his head rest lightly on top of hers.

‘You did what you thought was best,’ Fitz says after a moment. ‘And you were still healing too. From something that I couldn’t see. Maybe something I didn’t _try_ to see, I don’t know.’ 

He drags one hand backwards through his hair, a slightly frustrated gesture, and Jemma kisses his shoulder through his shirt.

‘I can’t fault you for it, for any of it,’ he whispers. ‘Not when I would have done the exact same thing if our positions had been reversed.’

Jemma blinks back the tears that have gathered in her eyes with a small gasp, before twisting her head upwards to kiss him properly. Fitz must have been anticipating this, because he is already bending down to meet her, his eyes fluttering shut. Their lips taste like salt and champagne, the flavours mingling as Jemma deepens the kiss, drawing him in closer to her. Fitz responds with enthusiasm, cupping her face in his hands, running his thumb against her cheekbone and leaving it there even when they break away with a sharp breath as the taxi drives over a bump in the road.

‘We’ve both made mistakes,’ Jemma murmurs, and Fitz nods in agreement. ‘But we’ve been lucky enough to have a second chance at doing things _right_.’

‘A second…’ Fitz kisses her softly on the nose, ‘and a third…’ on the forehead, ‘and a fourth, and a fifth,’ on both her eyelids, which makes her chuckle, ‘and as many as we need,’ finally on her lips, ‘to stay together.’

Jemma smiles into him, revelling in the warmth of his breath, the warmth of his heart. ‘And I’ll love you through every one,’ she whispers.

Fitz kisses her one last time as the taxi pulls up outside their apartment block. ‘And I you.’

And really, Jemma thinks as she leads him up the stairs towards their shared bed, with their shared sheets and their shared sleep, when she had the knowledge of that, tucked away in the centre of her heart, what else could she ever ask for?

 

 


	10. fitzsimmons, things you said as you kissed me goodnight/things you said in a hotel room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons and things you said as you kissed me goodnight/things you said in a hotel room.

 

 

They won’t have long to sleep.

Fitz knows this from rolling reluctantly over his side of the bed and checking his phone - he has one message, from Mack, letting him know that the quinnjet is leaving at five am, with or without them. 

Four hours, Fitz thinks, dropping his phone back onto the bedside table, four hours to savour the feeling of Jemma’s arm resting across his naked chest, four hours to inhale the scent of her body, her hair, her skin. Four hours to fall asleep next to his best friend in the world.

There were worse things that could happen to a man.

‘What does he say?’ Jemma asks, her voice murmuring against his shoulder. Her breath is warm, but the sensation still sends shivers running down his spine.

He turns back towards her, his words catching in his throat at the sight of her lying next to him on the sheets, her hair falling in loose waves across her bare shoulders, her eye big and bright and brilliant. Even in the dark, Fitz has discovered, Jemma is luminous.

‘We leave at five,’ he says, slipping one arm around her to draw her close again. His fingers trace her curves, her scars, all the places he has now had the privilege of knowing. ‘So, we’ve got four hours.’

Jemma hums lightly, her hands (no longer as cold as they had been; he had taken care of that) resting on his chest. Fitz wonders if she can feel his heartbeat and, if so, if she is startled by how loud it grows whenever she touches him.

‘Shall we sleep, then?’

An hour ago, he might have protest that, so keen was he on discovering her every inch and kissing her until the sun came up. Having sex with Jemma Simmons in a hotel room in Bucharest had been a kind of magic Fitz had never dared _dream_ he would experience, but now he finds that the idea of falling asleep next to her until the pale light of dawn woke them both holds a magic all of its own. A different kind of magic, perhaps, but a magic all the same.

‘Yeah,’ he whispers. ‘We’ll sleep.’

Jemma nods, lifting her head to kiss him. The slightness of the gesture seems to take her as much effort as breathing, but Fitz can feel the tenderness behind the kiss and the way her lips linger on his just a little longer than necessary, and he realises that she is savouring the magic of the moment too.

‘Goodnight, Fitz.’

He can’t help but kiss her back, lightly and slightly clumsily in the dark of the room. Already, he can see her eyelids start to flicker shut.

‘Goodnight, Jemma.’

Despite how long the day has been, Fitz struggles to sleep. It is not that he is uncomfortable; far from it, the bed underneath him is soft and forgiving, Jemma’s body in his arms even more so. But the unfamiliarity of the room, combined with the way his mind is still ticking over the events of the last two days, means that it is at least another hour before he feels his limbs grow heavy and his eyes gratefully fall shut.

He is hovering, just on the edge of wakefulness, when Jemma’s voice, soft and low, reaches him.

‘Fitz.’

He murmurs something unintelligible, sure that if something was wrong she would be sounding a lot more distressed.

‘Fitz, wake up. This is important.’

‘Wazzit,’ he mumbles without opening his eyes, but he squeezes her shoulder gently, just to let her know he is listening.

Jemma’s body moves, his arm sliding down her as she sits up in the bed, pulling the sheet around her as she does so, so that he is left exposed on the mattress.

‘Why didn’t we have sex in the pod?’

All of a sudden, Fitz feels very awake. His eyes fly open and stare at Jemma as she sits cross legged next to him, her face very earnest in the moonlight.

‘What- what did you ju- _pardon_?’

‘Why,’ Jemma repeats calmly, ‘did we not have sex in the pod?’

Fitz can feel his jaw hanging open, but doesn’t quite have the strength to do anything about it.

Jemma shifts on the mattress to sit a little closer to him, the sheet falling low to expose more of the creamy skin of her chest and shoulders. 

‘When you think about it objectively,’ she remarks, ‘it was the only logical way the situation could have played out. We were at the bottom of the ocean, so the lighting was very atmospheric and sincerely flattering…’

Fitz remembers how she had looked in the reflection of the pod glass, all light and no darkness, and he closes his mouth.

‘…and I had just given you that lecture on thermodynamics and, since I now know science to be your sweet talk of choice, I can only _imagine_ what that must have done to you…’

‘It was a very nice speech,’ he admits, feeling his cheeks go hot with colour.

‘… _and_ we were thoroughly dishevelled, Fitz! My hair was tousled, your _shirt_ was untucked!’

‘I had a broken arm, Jemma,’ Fitz says weakly.

‘Oh, I’m sure we could have found a way around that if we’d put our minds to it.’

Still reeling slightly, Fitz shakes his head and sits up so that they are face to face. ‘What are you…?’

Sighing, Jemma squeezes her eyes tightly shut, briefly screwing up her face. It is incredible, he thinks, how utterly adorable she manages to make such a frustrated gesture. Reaching across the bed sheets, she takes his hand, holding it between both of hers.

‘I was lying there,’ Jemma says hesitantly, ‘and I was thinking about…about how _happy_ I am, and how I have never known a happiness quite like it. And then I couldn’t help but wonder about what might have happened if we’d done this…if we’d been this kind of _us_ …sooner. How might things have been different?’

She looks up at him, and Fitz notices the tears shining in her eyes.

‘Surely there wouldn’t - there _couldn’t_ \- have been so much hurt or so much pain in a universe like that. Haven’t you ever wondered what it might have been like?’

Fitz struggles to find the words to answer her, because he had. Oh, he had, more times than he cared to remember. 

In the first few months after she had been taken by the monolith, he had agonised over what might have been if he had just done things a little differently. He had traced his mistakes like a timeline, pouring over them just as hard as he had his plans to bring her home again, until he realised that there was no point in worrying about the _what ifs_. The only thing that had really mattered to him had been making sure there would be a _when_.

‘Yes,’ he says eventually, unable, as always, to be anything else but honest with her. ‘Yes, I have thought about it. More often than you think.’ 

When he sees her nod, and the first tear start to dribble down her cheek, Fitz instantly reaches out and pulls her close, the thin sheet the only thing separating their bodies.

‘But, Jemma…’ He uses the palm of his hand to lift her chin up so that he is looking into her eyes. ‘There are a hundred _thousand_ different universes we could have lived in, depending on a choice we’ve made. I could have refused to go with you onto Coulson’s team. We could have been given different partners in chem lab. We could have had sex at the bottom of the bloody ocean and discovered, heaven forbid, that we hated having sex with each other.’

In his arms, Jemma shudders. ‘Oh God, don’t say things like _that_.’

‘What I am trying to say,’ Fitz continues, the ghost of a grin on his lips, ‘is that while there are a hundred thousand universes we could have lived in, none of those come with a guarantee of us getting here.’ He nods downwards, to where her arms are looped over his shoulders and their legs are intertwined, the sheets tangled between them. ‘And us…us getting here, us getting to be this kind of _us_ , isn’t something I would ever risk. Not for less hurt, or less pain.’ Lifting his head, he presses his lips to hers gently, kissing away the salt water there. ‘Not for the world.’

Jemma smiles into him, her body visibly relaxing as she kisses him back, long and slow. ‘And neither would I.’

Fitz falls backwards onto the bed, Jemma landing on top of him without breaking the kiss. She stretches her body out against his, her hands cupping the back of his head, and Fitz is reminded, yet again, of the unending magic their being together was going to bring.

‘Sex at the bottom of the ocean would have been terribly romantic though,’ Jemma murmurs against his lips. ‘I still stand by that.’

Fitz laughs out loud then, rolling her over until she is on her back, her hair fanned out behind her, spectacularly dark against the white of the sheet.

‘Well, I don’t think I can quite give you that,’ he admits. ‘But I have it on very good authority that sex in a queen sized hotel bed with your best friend can also be terribly romantic.’

Jemma sighs, rolling her eyes theatrically, but there is a smile on her face, a smile that makes Fitz question, not for the first time, if she is growing more beautiful with every second he looks at her. She reaches upwards to pull him down towards her to kiss him again.

‘I suppose that will have to do, then.’

 

 


	11. fitzsimmons, things you said in the spur of the moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons and things you said in the spur of the moment.

 

 

‘We should have another one.’

Fitz turns to her in alarm, as she had expected he might. She hadn’t really meant to bring this up now, but they were sitting side by side on a park bench watching Alfie play on the swings, and something about the scene had tugged at Jemma’s heart strings.

‘Seriously?’ Fitz stares at her, bug eyed. ‘You want to have another one? We haven’t even had _this_ one yet!’

He nods downwards to the small bump of her stomach, only just beginning to show through her loose fitting top.

‘I know, I know!’ Jemma sighs, skimming her fingers across her bump and looking up to give him a wry grin. ‘That’s not exactly the kind of thing I could forget.’

Fitz rolls his eyes fondly and slides closer to her. His arm that had been lying across the back of the bench slips forward to her shoulder, pulling her into him. Jemma settles her head on his shoulder comfortably, still keeping one eye on the playground. 

Alfie is climbing to the top of the slide now; as he reaches the crest, she feels Fitz tense slightly beside her. Up until very recently, their three year old would clamber to the top, full of bravado, and then falter, before whining for his dad to come and lift him back down to the ground again. Today, however, Alfie only hesitates momentarily before pushing himself down the slide with a shriek.

Fitz slumps back onto the bench, and Jemma can’t help but wonder if his shoulders are sagging from disappointment just as much as relief. It is a wonderful thing to watch your child become more and more independent, she muses, but it does come at the price of them needing you less and less.

‘Did you really mean that?’ Fitz murmurs into her hair. He has his lips pressed to the crown of her head, like a permanent kiss. ‘About having another baby?’

‘Yes.’ The answer comes out so easily it even surprises herself. ‘Yes, I really do.’ She splays her fingers across her swollen abdomen ruefully. ‘Maybe not immediately after this little one, though. I’m hardly Wonder Woman…’

‘I digress.’

She thumps him lightly on the arm and he catches her by the wrist, grinning as he pulls her closer to kiss her. Jemma lets herself to fold into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, her smile meeting his as her lips part to allow him to fill her in the way he did so well.

It is incredible, she thinks, how even after so many years the feel of his mouth against hers still sends a deep thrill running down her spine, still made her heart jump at the sensation that, even after all this time, still felt so beautifully new.

‘Watch Alfie,’ she mumbles against his lips, unwilling to detangle herself from her husband’s arms.

‘I am, I am.’ Fitz brushes the bristle of his chin against the top of her head. ‘He’s fine. He’s, uh, talking to some dodgy looking bloke in a trench coat. I think he’s about to take our son to the back of his van, show him some puppies. I’m sure it’s all perfectly safe.’

Jemma elbows him, knowing full well that he is joking with her, but her eyes dart up to scan the playground anyway, her heart jumping anxiously in her chest. She gives a slight exhale when she spots Alfie, crouching in the bark to examine some small insect.

‘Would you want another one?’ she asks, twisting in Fitz’s arms so that she is leaning against him, her head tucked underneath his chin, her back cushioned on his chest. ‘Would you want us to have a third baby?’

Fitz’s arms encircle her middle, cradling her and her bump against his protectively. ‘Jemma, I would have a hundred babies with you.’

‘Steady on there, Casanova,’ she mutters.

‘A dozen babies, then…’

‘Three,’ Jemma says decidedly. ‘Three babies. Three is the perfect number: one would be lonely, two would just see each other as rivals for their whole life. And besides, the average family has two point five children. I like to consider myself above average in every walk of life, procreation being no exception.’

 She can feel Fitz grin, his smile lightening his whole being. ‘Have I mentioned today how deeply I love you?’

‘Well, yes, actually. Twice.’

He kisses the nape of her neck, then the soft curve of her shoulder. Jemma tips her head back, revelling in the unbridled joy of his touch, the security of the knowledge of how much she loved her. And, in return, how much she loved him.

‘But I suppose I could stand to hear it again.’

 

* * *

 

‘Fitz?’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you remember how I told you that three was the perfect number of children?’

‘Yes. Very clearly. Something about how one baby would be lonely, two would be bitter rivals…’

‘Mmm. Well, I think I might have to revise that statement.’

‘Oh, really? Oh what grounds?’

‘On the grounds that I got my newest ultrasound for our third baby this morning…and there was a fourth heartbeat.’

 

 


	12. tripdaisy, things you said in your sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: tripskye/tripdaisy and things you said in your sleep.

 

 

It had been a long time since he’d had a girl in his bed - or, at least, a long time since he’d had a girl in his bed who just wanted to talk his ear off and then sleep along side him.

It had started their first night on the Playground. Trip had made his way, bleary eyed and heavy hearted, down the dark corridor towards his assigned bunk, fully planning on crashing out on his narrow bed that was slightly too short (his feet dangled off the end) and sleeping till the morning. Skye, however, had had a different idea.

Trip had just shut his eyes, pulling the blanket up to his chin to try and keep at least some part of his body warm (his feet dangling off the edge were woefully deprived of covering), when his door banged open again, and a small, dark whirlwind had entered the room, a jumper pulled tight across her body.

‘Okay, just for the record, this has absolutely nothing to do with you as a person and everything to do with the fact that I really don’t want to sleep alone tonight, and normally I’d go sleep with Simmons but I can’t do that, obviously, and so you’re just going to have to do instead.’

Skye had thrown herself down onto the mattress next to him, causing the bed to shudder under their joint weight, and reached over to tug the blanket across to cover her body, turning over onto her side with a sigh before closing her eyes.

Trip had opened his mouth to protest, before he took in the dark circles on her face and the way she gripped the blanket like it was the only thing anchoring her to the earth, and the way her body felt familiarly warm beside his own. Despite the circumstances, he found himself fighting back a smile before he shut his mouth again.

Over the next few weeks, Skye was an almost constant presence in his bunk between the hours of eleven and six at night.  During the day, he found that _he_ was an almost constant presence around _her_ , the two of them growing closer and closer as their rag tag team desperately tried to cling onto the name of SHIELD. 

There was something magnetic about Skye in the daylight hours, something that drew Trip to her without him really knowing why. Her energy, her passion, her hunger to always do more, to _be_ more, fascinated him, but it also made her slightly untouchable in those early weeks. It was only at night that the space between them came crashing down.

She spoke in her sleep. Trip had discovered this after their first few nights together. He’d be on the edge of dropping off into sleep when he’d hear her mumble, her voice suddenly remarkably loud in the quiet of his room.

A lot of the time, her sleep talk never makes any sense to him:

‘Mind the dragon!’

‘Pencil sharpener.’

‘Here’s looking at you, kid.’

‘Doughnuts, we have too many doughnuts.’

‘We’re gonna need a bigger boat.’

(After a little googling, Trip realises that a lot of her nonsense was actually classic film quotes.)

Sometimes, though, Skye will cry out in her sleep and occasionally kick too. When that happens, Trip does his best to calm her down, muttering soothing words to her shaking body, and then slips out from between their blankets and sleeps on the floor instead, allowing her to toss and turn on the bed. He holds her ankle lightly, stroking the soft skin there, and he thinks that she falls a little quieter.

But of course, he could just be imagining it.

One night, he is lying on his side watching Skye’s face as she sleeps. There is a small frown on her forehead and her mouth is parted slightly; her snores making hiccup-like noises with every breath she takes. Trip can’t help but grin at it, at how easy and familiar it feels to sleep along side her. It is a kind of ease he has never really known.

Skye frowns , stretching out alongside him. Trip can feel her toes brush against his thighs.

‘Kiss me,’ she mumbles in her sleep. ‘You fool!’

She scrunches her nose up, and Trip thinks it might just be the most adorable thing he has ever seen.

Taking a deep breath, he dips his head forward to rest against her forehead. Skye’s eyelids flutter, and he waits until he knows she is awake before letting his lips find hers. 

The kiss is light, and it lasts for all of five seconds, but it leaves Trip with a taste in his mouth that makes him ache for more.

He draws backwards, anxiously looking for Skye’s reaction. Her eyes are still closed, but there is the ghost of a smile on her face and as she finally opens her eyes he sees that they are shining.

‘You talk,’ he whispers, by way of explanation. ‘In your sleep.’

Skye gives a soft laugh, and reaches forward to cup his face and kiss him again.

‘And you drool,’ she retorts cheerfully. ‘Think that makes us about even?’

 

 


	13. fitzsimmons, things you said on the phone at 4am and things you said that i wasn't supposed to hear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons and things you said on the phone at 4am and things you said that i wasn't supposed to hear.

 

 

The cry comes at just after three and Jemma moans into the mattress, where she had fallen face down and stayed after she’d shuffled back to bed after the last cry at two am.

As much as she adores her newborn baby son, the constant disruptions during the night are slowly starting to drain her will to live.

Next to her, Fitz sighs and starts to roll over.

‘My turn, I think.’

She pats him clumsily on the back in gratitude as he slides off the bed. ‘If he’s hungry again, just come and wake me.’

Fitz kisses her on the back of her head, the only part he can reach for all the blankets cocooned around her. ‘Will do.’

Once he is gone, Jemma turns onto her side, tucking the duvet underneath her chin, and listens. Fitz’s footsteps pad along the landing and into Alfie’s room; momentarily, she hears their son’s cries stutter as he murmurs something to him, but then they start back up again with vigour. When she hears the creak of the wobbly floorboard, Jemma realises that Fitz is taking him downstairs, presumably so that she won’t be disturbed by Alfie’s wails.

Closing her eyes again, Jemma pulls the blankets up over her head and tries to sleep again.

In the few days since they brought him home from the hospital, Alfie hasn’t slept for more than two hours at a time. Which, unfortunately, means that neither of his parents has either. The last time Jemma felt this tired she was on an alien planet with no food or water, but despite this she is still utterly unable to shut out the pitiful cries coming from downstairs.

They seem to pull at her, making her insides twist and her heart ache, until she is having to bite down on her lip to hold back the urge to fly down the stairs to clasp Alfie to her tightly.

 _This_ , Jemma thinks wearily, _is the price of love_.

A particularly anguished cry comes from downstairs, and her eyes snap open, her heart jumping inside her chest. The clock on the bedside table reads 04:01 as Jemma pushes back the covers, hurrying barefoot across the room and leaving the bedroom door open behind her. 

Out on the landing, Alfie’s cries grow louder still, but now she can hear Fitz’s voice alongside his son’s, coming from the kitchen. Curiously, Jemma creeps down the stairs to listen at the door and realises with a start that he is talking on the phone.

‘Hey, Mum, it’s me. Listen, I’m sorry it’s so early but I’ve got a question…yeah, yeah, that’s him…say hi to Nana, Alfie…yeah, I know he’s not a happy little chap right now, Mum, that’s kind of why I was ringing. 

I’ve got that baby handbook you sent me open, and I’m going through the checklist but nothing seems to be working…yes, he’s dry, I’ve been checking every two minutes…I’ve burped him, yes…I’ve been rocking him for an hour now…no, he hasn’t got a temperature, he’s perfect…

He can’t be hungry, Mum. Jemma only fed him two hours ago…yes, I _know_ he’s my son, my appetite isn’t _that_ bad, surely?…She’s just so tired still, Mum, I’m worried about her. I don’t want to have to wake her up, just for her to have to do it all again in an hour for the little monkey…

What? _No_ , Mum, I am not giving my newborn son a finger full of whiskey to help him sleep!…What do you _mean_ that’s what you used to do for me?!’

At this point, Jemma decides that it is time to announce her presence. She pushes open the door to the kitchen, and Fitz freezes in the middle of the room, Alfie over his shoulder and his mobile pressed to his ear. Raising one eyebrow, she manages to give him a small smile.

Fitz gives her a brief smile back and then clears his throat. ‘Uh, Mum? I’ll call you back, yeah? We’ll use skype tomorrow, okay?’

He hangs up the phone and his shoulders sag uselessly.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he groans above Alfie’s sobs, as Jemma steps forward, her arms outstretched for the both of them. ‘I didn’t mean for you to hear that…’

‘Oh, Fitz…’

‘I can’t help worrying about you, you know, especially when you’re not getting the rest the doctor said you needed. And I didn’t want you to think that I’m not capable of this, I _am_ , I just…’ He shakes his head, and Jemma feels her heart ache again.

‘Fitz,’ she repeats softly, bringing up a hand to touch his cheek, willing him silently to look at her. ‘I would never think that you weren’t capable. I _know_ that you are. But Alfie is ours. We made him _together_ , and that means that we do every part of this together. Even the parts that make us sleep deprived zombies.’

He laughs, lightly, and brings his head down so that their foreheads meet, Alfie clasped in the middle.

‘I love you both so, so much.’

Jemma smiles, reaching up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. And I love you.’

They stay like that, foreheads together and eyes closed, for a minute, before Jemma notices something and opens one eye tentatively, and then the other.

‘Fitz?’

‘Yeah?’ He opens his eyes too, and Jemma grins, nodding down at the baby between them.

‘I think he’s finally asleep.’

‘Oh!’ Fitz lets out a long breath, and Jemma has to stifle a giggle at how obvious his relief is. ‘Oh, thank _God_.’

‘I guess,’ she says thoughtfully, rubbing her fingernail against Alfie’s thin head of hair, ‘he just needed us to work together too.’

‘Yeah,’ Fitz murmurs back, a broad grin spreading all over his face. ‘I guess he did.’

With some difficulty, they take Alfie back upstairs to his room side by side, trying not to let him break contact with either of them. Once in his room, they hold their breaths as they lower him into his crib and, when he doesn’t stir, tip toe back to their own room, hand in hand.

‘See?’ Jemma murmurs. ‘We’ve got this. Just as long as we do it together.’

Fitz smiles at her through the dark and bends his head to kiss her again. His lips are just about to touch hers, so close Jemma can feel their warmth, when a familiar thin wail cuts through the quiet of the night.

They both groan, and Fitz looks up at her hopefully.

‘Should I see if I can find the whiskey bottle?’

‘Urgh, _Fitz_!’

 

 


	14. fitzsimmons, "god I hate you so much right now it's not even funny!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons and the line "god I hate you so much right now it's not even funny!"

 

 

‘God!’ Jemma streaks one hand down her face, stomping her foot on the lab floor. ‘I hate you so much right now, it’s not even funny!’

‘Well, likewise!’ Fitz slams his palm against the work bench, with a face like thunder. ‘I can’t…I can’t even stand to  _look_ at you, Simmons! Of all the things you’ve ever done to me, this really is the worst.’

Jemma takes a deep, shuddery breath, aware that every set of eyes in the vicinity are fixated on the two of them, the technicians and agents around them utterly unable to look away from the scene. They have all taken several steps back, leaving the space around her and Fitz empty. The lab has become a stage, and they its performers.

‘If that’s really how you feel,’ she says crisply, ‘I suppose I’ll make things easier for you and just leave.’

‘Oh, by all means!’ Fitz waves a hand in the vague direction of the door, not even bothering to look up at her. ‘Don’t let _me_ hold you back.’

Jemma snorts, snatching up her jacket and making for the door. ‘Don’t worry about that,’ she snaps, ‘I never have.’ She throws the last cold retort over her shoulder and whirls out into the corridor.

She passes Mack and the new director, both standing by the glass windows to the lab, easily within hearing distance of the whole episode. Jemma drops her eyes quickly to avoid Mack’s stare, but even as she does so, she sees the gleam of triumph flash in her new employer’s eyes.

Behind her, she hears an almighty crash as Fitz sends a storage container of test tubes tumbling furiously to the ground.

 

* * *

 

She has been waiting on the end of his bed for an hour before he arrives, cheeks pale and his shirt rumpled. She jumps up hastily to meet him, but Fitz is half way across the room before the door has even closed behind him.

He takes her in his arms and tips her head backwards, crushing his lips to hers so hard that for a moment Jemma forgets to breathe.

She loops her arms around his neck, pulling him flush against her.

‘Do you think,’ Fitz asks her, in between kisses to her lips, her eyes, her neck, her cheeks, ‘that it worked?’

‘Mmm.’ Jemma groans, feeling his teeth scrape lightly against the inside of her lip and gripping the back of his neck tighter to keep her knees from giving out beneath her. ‘Oh, absolutely. You were very convincing.’

Fitz grins, kissing her again and letting his hands wander to the small of her back, gathering the material of her shirt between his fingers. ‘You weren’t all that bad yourself.’

‘Mack won’t have believed it though,’ Jemma warns. She tugs at the material of his cardigan, and Fitz lets go of her with one hand to help her pull it off him. ‘We’ve already played that trick on him once, he won’t fall for it again.’

‘I know, I know.’ Fitz sighs, reaching for her again. ‘But he won’t say anything, I know he won’t. This wasn’t a permanent fix, it never was. We both knew that. But it’s bought us a little more time.’

Jemma raises one eyebrow suggestively. ‘And what were you thinking we might do with the time we fought so valiantly to get?’

‘Well…’ 

Fitz’s fingers slip underneath her shirt, making her shiver as he traces the pattern of scars around her middle. Against her neck, his breath is hot and Jemma feels about to burst with how much she loves him.

It will take, she thinks, more than this new kind of SHIELD to rip them apart for real.

‘I might have a few ideas.’

Her grin is a mirror image of his, pressed up against her, as he lifts her clear off her feet and carries her to the bed.

 

 


	15. fitzsimmons, canon compliant wound cleaning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons and canon compliant wound cleaning.

 

 

Jemma’s ears are still ringing as she steps into the lab, her legs a little bit unsteady underneath her. It is the shock more than anything else, she tells herself, it is the unexpectedness of the blast throwing her and Fitz back against the wall of the base that is making her feel short of breath and a little queasy. 

It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that one of their team might have been responsible.

Fitz closes the door behind them, as if he can shut them off from the rest of the base permanently. There is a slightly pained look on his face, and Jemma doesn’t think it is entirely because of his injuries.

‘He might not be…’ she begins.

‘I know, I know.’ 

Fitz sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Even this small movement makes him wince and so he stops, looking up at her instead. 

‘I just…’

‘I know,’ Jemma echoes sadly, glancing back out the window to where Daisy has joined Coulson and Lincoln. She appears to be saying something to them, in her quick, Daisy way with lots of arm gestures, and they turn to follow her back down the corridor. ‘I know.’

When she looks back, Fitz is massaging the back of his neck whilst trying to hide a grimace. Pulling her lips into a tight line, Jemma strides as purposefully across the lab as she can manage on her wobbly legs towards the first aid box.

‘I think we’ve got a heating pad in here somewhere,’ she says over her shoulder. ‘And if you take some ibuprofen for the pain, I’ll ask you a couple of questions to see if you’ve sustained a concussion…’

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa…’ Fitz steps up behind her and crosses his arms. ‘What makes you think we’re doing me first?’

Jemma tuts, turning to face him. ‘Well, you’re the one clutching your neck like you’re afraid it’s about to fall off…’

Fitz rolls his eyes, his face and neck flushing a little pink. ‘Yes,’ he admits, before giving her a firm look, ‘but _you_ are the one who’s bleeding!’

She is about to open her mouth and protest the fact when she realises that she is still clutching her arm, so tightly that she can feel the blood pulsing underneath her skin. When she glances down, Jemma finds herself almost bewildered to see that blood leaking out between her fingers and dribbling down her arm.

‘Oh,’ is all she can find to say.

Fitz shakes his head, but there is endearment in his exasperation.

‘Come on,’ he says softly. ‘You first.’

He helps her prise her fingers off the cut along her arm and presses a cloth to it instead, stemming the bleeding. Then, he gestures for her to sit up on the work top so he can get a closer look.

Bracing herself with her free hand, Jemma tries to push herself upwards. Fitz, recognising that she was about to struggle, steps forward to help. He puts his hands on either side of her waist, his fingers splaying out against the material of her jumper, and lifts her up.

Jemma gives him a fleeting smile as he pushes back her sleeve, her sides where he had touched her still pleasantly warm. Fitz smiles back at her reassuringly, his head now so close to hers their foreheads were almost touching.

‘Half a dozen stitches,’ he announces, in a voice so tenderly decisive that Jemma would have almost been convinced that he was sure in what he was doing, had he not glanced up at her for approval after saying it.

She nods, giving her silent agreement of his diagnosis, and Fitz turns towards the first aid kit. He pulls out a small stitches kit and brings it back to her, ripping it open before hesitating and looking up to meet her gaze.

‘Um…is it alright if I…?’

He is asking, Jemma realises with a soft shock, if it’s okay for him to take her arm and put in the stitches. She had never imagined that he would do it for her. She had been fully prepared to put them in herself; after all, she had done it before, hadn’t she?

But Fitz is looking at her earnestly, the stitches kit open in his hands, and his eyes are full of the deep, warm care he has for her, the care that makes her mouth go dry every time she sees it.

Swallowing hard, Jemma nods, offering him her arm. ‘Yeah. Of course.’

He follows the instructions on the back of the packet, prompted by her when necessary, his brow furrowed with concentration. His fingers are gentle, but purposeful too, taking care to tie the stitches properly without pulling at her too much.

He hasn’t caused her any excess hurt at all, which is why Jemma is so embarrassed to find tears welling up behind her eyes.

Fitz finishes dressing the wound, covering it with a thin gel to keep out infection. He looks up at her and his eyes widen.

‘What? What’s wrong, did I hurt you?’ His hands hover over her arm, all of a sudden awkward and unsure.

‘No!’ Jemma reaches out to take one of his hands in hers, squeezing it quickly. ‘No, no. You didn’t, Fitz, it’s fine.’

Concern flickers over his face, and he makes to wipe the tears off her cheeks. ‘Then what…’

Jemma takes his other hand, raising her injured arm for the first time. It feels a little stiff, heavy even, due to the anaesthetic he had used. Fitz stops, his eyes locking with hers.

She wavers slightly, rendered as speechless as she always was by the steady love in his face, and wishes not for the first time that there was a way for him to hear all she wanted to say to him without her having to fight for the words.

‘Thank you,’ she says softly, forming each word carefully before she says it. ‘For doing this for me.’

Fitz blinks, offering her a half smile. ‘S’okay. You’ve always done the same for me.’

There is a weight behind what he says that Jemma accepts, biting her lip.

‘Even so,’ she continues. ‘I could have done it for myself.’

‘I know,’ Fitz says with a small shrug. ‘I know you could have.’

 _But you didn’t have to_.

Jemma exhales at his unspoken words, words that feel like they have lifted the weight of the world from her shoulders, wondering how she could ever show him just how much all he did meant to her.

A cut on Fitz’s face starts to bleed, trickling down into his eyebrow, and Jemma frowns at it.

‘Here,’ she says quietly, releasing his hands from hers and reaching behind her for an antiseptic wipe. ‘Let me.'

 

 


	16. fitzsimmons living in their new apartment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons and living in their new apartment.

 

 

The new bed they had ordered doesn’t arrive in time for their first night.

Instead, they push the mattress up against the wall where the bed will go once it finally does arrive and stretch the sheets over it, falling asleep to the sound of the rain against the window panes.

‘I told them the date,’ Fitz murmurs, his cheek resting against Jemma’s hair. Despite the memory foam mattress, he would have sworn blind that he could feel the floorboards pressing underneath his back. ‘I told them the date we were moving in and they _promised_ me that the bloody thing would be here in time…’

Wordlessly, Jemma reaches behind her and takes his arm, pulling it around her shoulders. She kisses his palm and sighs.

‘Go to sleep, Fitz.’

When he wakes up, the mattress next to him is empty. There is a slight dent in the shape of her body there instead, the only evidence that she had been there at all. For a moment, Fitz allows himself to breathe in, inhaling the faint scent of her perfume lingering on the sheets. Then, feeling the press of the hardwood floors underneath his back, he pushes back the covers and gets out of bed.

As he pushes open the bedroom door to pad through to the open plan living area, he is met by the sound of sizzling bacon, quickly followed by the overwhelming smell of fried eggs. Jemma is standing at the stove in the kitchen, dressed in a pair of tracksuit bottoms and an old blue hoodie of his. She is humming lightly as she flips the bacon and the sight of her standing there is enough to make Fitz’s knees feel slightly weak.

Jemma doesn’t notice as he comes up behind her and slips an arm around her waist. She jumps, but then immediately relaxes, a slow smile spreading over her face.

‘Good morning.’

Fitz grins, pressing a kiss to her neck. ‘Good morning.’

‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Terribly. I could feel the floor through the mattress all night.’

‘Are you sure?’ Jemma’s face twists up towards him and she raises one eyebrow. ‘What with the way you were snoring this morning, I would never have thought it…’

Fitz feels his face grow hot and he turns away quickly. ‘Do we, uh, need plates for breakfast? Where are the plates?’

‘Box number three!’ Jemma calls over her shoulder, the smile still evident in her voice. ‘And cutlery is in box number eight.’

Locating the relevant boxes, he carries the plates and knives over to the kitchen island.

‘Since when did we have bacon?’ he asks, leaning both his elbows on the marble surface. ‘Last night the only thing we had in the fridge was beer.’

‘I got it this morning,’ Jemma says, flipping the bacon with a satisfying sizzle. ‘There’s a small butcher’s just down the street and I popped in to introduce myself. He gave me the rashes for free, said they were a complimentary welcome to the neighbourhood.’

Fitz can’t help but smile at that, at the idea of Jemma rising at the crack of dawn to make herself known to the local shops and being so proud of being given a gift to take home to him. It is so delightfully Jemma, and it makes his heart swell just to think about it.

Jemma turns around with the frying pan just in time to catch him grinning and she tilts her head at him wryly.

‘What?’

Fitz shakes his head. ‘Nothing. I just love you.’

‘Aw.’ Jemma beams, sliding several rashes onto his plate. ‘I love you too.’

She turns back to check on her eggs and puts two pieces of bread down in the toaster before stepping back to admire her work space. Fitz watches her, his chin in his hand.

‘You’re happy here.’

With a frown, Jemma turns to face him. ‘Sorry?’

‘You’re happy,’ Fitz repeats, gesturing around them. He meets her eyes and smiles. ‘This place…it makes you happy. Happier than I think I’ve ever seen you.’

Jemma seems to consider this, her forehead furrowed, as she carries the fried eggs over to the island, putting one on her plate and one on his. She steps back to dunk the pan in the sink, pausing to pluck the toast out of the toaster, before returning to stand in front of him. Fitz waits for her to gather her words, hardly daring to breathe.

‘I am happy here,’ Jemma says quietly. ‘Deliriously, unbelievably happy. But Fitz…’ She leans forward, reaching across the table for his hand. ‘I was happy at the Academy. I was happy at Sci-Ops. I was happy on the Bus, and in the end I was even happy at the Playground.’

Fitz turns her hand upside down, tracing the lines down her palm with his fingers as if there is a secret there that he has yet to learn. It makes her smile, a smile he has come to realise exists only for her to give to him.

‘In all of those places,’ she whispers. ‘I was only happy because I had _you_ , Fitz. And that’s why I am so deliriously, unbelievably happy here. Because I have you with me. And I always will be, as long as I have you.’ 

If he wasn’t quite so hungry, Fitz would have swept their plates off the island and climbed across to kiss her right then and there. But he is starving, so he decides to settle with kissing the back of her hand instead.

‘Then you have me,’ he says softly. ‘Always.’

The smile Jemma gives him could light up the whole city. She nods down to the full plates in front of her. ‘Hungry?’

Fitz groans and nods. ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he says, reaching out to tug a plate towards him.

‘Um…’ Jemma gives him a look as he raises his fork to his mouth. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

He freezes. ‘Eating my breakfast?’

She shakes her head at him in exasperation, before picking up her own plate and stepping out from behind the island. ‘Not _here_ you’re not…’

She leads him across the room to the first of the two bay window seats in the apartment. In this one a neat table has been installed to fit the shape of the window so you can sit on the cushions looking out at the street below and eat. As she sits down, the light streaming in through the thin muslin curtains shines off of her, making her almost too bright to look at.

‘Are we going to have to eat here every morning?’ Fitz grumbles, sinking down into the deep cushions next to her.

Jemma rolls her eyes at him. ‘Fitz, I paid for a bloody breakfast nook, of course we’re going to use it!’

‘I know, but every morning?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Even,’ Fitz lifts a forkful of egg to his mouth, ‘when we’re late for work?’

‘Then we’ll just have tea and toast here,’ Jemma retorts.

‘Even when it’s the middle of winter and colder than the seventh circle of hell?’

‘Then we’ll bring blankets and sit closer together.’

‘Even,’ Fitz says, ‘when I make you breakfast in bed?’

Jemma smiles, putting down her fork and crawling across the window towards him. She wraps her arms around his neck as he pulls her into his lap and kisses him on the lips, soft and slow.

‘Then I’ll make you carry me out here,’ she says into his ear, ‘and we’ll eat it together.’

Fitz tips his head back and smiles. On his back, he can feel the warmth of the sun and on his lips the promise of a lifetime of love.

‘I think I can live with that.’

 

 


	17. fitzsimmons discussing their new perfect home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons and discussing their new perfect home.

 

 

 _to_ : leofitz@shield.com

 _from_ : jemmasimmons@shield.com

 _subject_ : IMPORTANT. REPLY ASAP.

fitz, how do you feel about rooftop terraces?

_(sent: 9:23am)_

 

 _to_ : jemmasimmons@shield.com

 _from_ : leofitz@shield.com

 _re_ : IMPORTANT. REPLY ASAP.

jemma, do you really think that house hunting is what the director wanted us to use these super secret, super serious new shield email addresses for? 

_(sent: 9:36am)_

 

 _to_ : jemmasimmons@shield.com

 _from_ : leofitz@shield.com

 _re_ : IMPORTANT. REPLY ASAP.

but since you’re asking…i prefer balconies.

_(sent: 9:37am)_

 

 _to_ : leofitz@shield.com

 _from_ : jemmasimmons@shield.com

 _re_ : IMPORTANT. REPLY ASAP.

oh, pssh. this is super serious shield business! or at least, it’s super serious business for us. and we are a part of shield. so technically it counts as shield business.

really? do you want me to add a balcony to our list then?

_(sent: 9:40am)_

 

 _to_ : jemmasimmons@shield.com

 _from_ : leofitz@shield.com

 _re_ : IMPORTANT. REPLY ASAP.

not necessarily. i wouldn’t say it’s a requirement for me, i just think it would be nice, you know? but i’d be just as happy having a window box, to be honest with you. somewhere to grow some flowers. maybe a couple of herbs. that kind of thing.

_(sent: 9:41am)_

 

 _to_ : leofitz@shield.com

 _from_ : jemmasimmons@shield.com

 _re_ : IMPORTANT. REPLY ASAP.

oooh, window boxes. that’s definitely going on the list.

_(sent: 9:42am)_

 

 _to_ : jemmasimmons@shield.com

 _from_ : leofitz@shield.com

re: IMPORTANT. REPLY ASAP.

read it back to me?

_(sent: 9:43am)_

 

 _to_ : leofitz@shield.com

 _from_ : jemmasimmons@shield.com

 _re_ : IMPORTANT. REPLY ASAP.

ESSENTIAL REQUIREMENTS:

hardwood floors, breakfast nook, bay window, bath tub AND a shower, close to base, under budget (urgh, fitz), underfloor heating, fireproof surfaces and now window boxes. a balcony would be preferable, obviously, but window boxes are the minimum. did i miss anything?

_(sent: 9:50am)_

 

 _to_ : jemmasimmons@shield.com

 _from_ : leofitz@shield.com

 _re_ : IMPORTANT. REPLY ASAP.

no i reckon that just about covers it.

you don’t think we’re asking for too much do you?

_(sent: 9:54am)_

 

 _to_ : leofitz@shield.com

 _from_ : jemmasimmons@shield.com

 _re_ : IMPORTANT. REPLY ASAP.

oh, absolutely not. this place is going to be our _home_ , fitz. after everything we’ve been through, i think we’re allowed to give ourselves exactly what we want.

and besides, personally i consider everything on our list a necessity.

_(sent: 9:56am)_

 

* * *

 

 

 _to_ : leofitz@shield.com

 _from_ : jemmasimmons@shield.com

 _subject_ : !!!!!!

FITZ.

WE NEVER DECIDED HOW MANY BEDROOMS WE WANT.

_(sent: 10:29am)_

 

 _to_ : jemmasimmons@shield.com

 _from_ : leofitz@shield.com

 _re_ : !!!!!!

um. do we really need more than one? there’s only two of us, after all.

_(sent: 10:31am)_

 

 _to_ : leofitz@shield.com

 _from_ : jemmasimmons@shield.com

 _re_ : !!!!!!

well, yes. i know that. i was just thinking about if…

if we ever wanted to become more than just the two of us.

_(sent: 10:32am)_

 

* * *

 

 

Jemma’s finger hovers over the send button before she sends it. Once she has, she sits back in her chair, nibbling at her fingernails, and waits anxiously. It is less than thirty seconds before she hears the scuttling of feet down the corridor and the lab door opens.

Fitz looks slightly out of breath, and a little bit flustered, as he stands before her. ‘Are…are you saying that you…you want…?’

‘Well not right now, obviously,’ Jemma says, feeling her cheeks flush under the scrutiny of his gaze.

‘Obviously.’

‘But…someday…someday, yes.’ The words come out in a sharp breath, and it is only as she says them that she realises how much she truly means them. ‘Yes, I do.’

Fitz nods, his face still slightly shell shocked. ‘You…you want to have a baby? With me?’

Jemma has to laugh at that, the laughter bubbling up inside her chest warmly. ‘Of course, with you, Fitz! Who else?’

‘I don’t know!’ He shakes his head and rubs at his eyes. ‘I’m just trying to…’

A horrible fear grips at Jemma’s chest and she sits forward. ‘Do you…do you not want to have one? With me?’

Fitz’s eyes widen. ‘No!’

 He crosses the room in two long strides, sitting down beside her and taking her hands in his. He squeezes them reassuringly and Jemma feels the tightness in her stomach loosen ever so slightly.

‘No, Jemma,’ he says softly. ‘That’s not what I meant. _Of course_ I want to have a baby with you someday. I just can’t quite believe that this is a conversation that we’re having. A conversation that we _get_ to have.’

Up this close, she can see that his eyes are shining so bright that they light up his entire face, and it makes her laugh again.

‘I know!’ She pulls her chair a little bit closer to his, so that her legs fit in between his. Underneath the thin material of both their trousers, she can feel his warmth and it makes her fingers itch to unbutton his shirt. She settles for twining them between his own. ‘It means the world to me.’

Fitz grins. ‘And to me.’

He leans forward, bridging the short distance between them to kiss her. His lips fall familiarly against hers, and Jemma closes her eyes as she tastes the warmth and the sweetness and the strength that every kiss of Fitz’s offers to her. 

Every time, it never fails to amaze her how much he tastes of love.

When he finally pulls back, Fitz doesn’t go very far. Instead, he keeps close to her chair, leaning one arm across her back. It feels steadying somehow, permanent, and it makes Jemma smile.

‘I think I might stay in here for the rest of the morning,’ Fitz says casually.

Jemma feels her smile grow. ‘Oh?’

‘Mmm.’ Fitz pulls her closer, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder. ‘I’m not needed in the garage, and there’s no scheduled field missions, so…’

‘Well,’ Jemma breathes, feeling the beat of his heart against her hand. ‘I have no objections to that.’

Fitz grins, and she turns her attention back to her computer screen, trying to remember what she had been doing before their email conversations. Their email thread is still visible, and she finds herself reading over their checklist again, mouthing the words to herself. 

Each necessity makes her heart beat just a little bit faster.

Fitz turns his head, giving her a gentle kiss to the top of her hair.

‘Jemma?’

‘Hmm?’

She can feel him smile against her hair.

‘Put two bedrooms on the list.’

 

 


	18. the hour au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons and the hour au.

 

 

The air is full of smoke and sweat and the undisguisable stench of alcohol and Fitz is doing his best to keep up with the quick pace of the music and the even quicker steps his partner is trying to put him through.

His chest heaves as she leaves him, dancing on, and suddenly it is Jemma being passed to him on the dance floor, her hair falling loose around her shoulders and her cheeks flushed.

He opens his arms as she steps into them, one hand immediately falling to his shoulder while the other is caught in his own. Her skin is hot, just like his, but the way her hips start to move against his makes a deep shiver run down Fitz’s spine.

‘You look amazing tonight,’ he says, hoping that his already red cheeks will be able to hide his flush. ‘Gorgeous, really.’

Jemma raises an eyebrow as he twirls her, keeping their fingers loosely locked. ‘Are you saying that there are times I don’t look _gorgeous_?’

‘No,’ he admits. When she spins back into him, she wobbles and he locks one arm around her back, allowing their bodies to move in perfect tandem. ‘You always look gorgeous.’

There must be something extraordinary in the drink of this place, he thinks, to make him say things like that to her out loud.

(He wonders if they’ll allow him to take a barrel or two home.)

When the song ends, Jemma drags him off the dance floor to the safety of a booth. They have only just sat down when the band starts up again, with a song even faster to the one they had just danced to.

‘Happy Birthday, Fitz,’ she says, a little breathlessly. ‘Can you believe it’s been a year since your last one already?’

On the bench, her knees are drawn up and they are resting ever so slightly on the top of his trousers.

‘No,’ Fitz says, shaking his head and reaching for a glass from the table - whether or not it was his, he couldn’t be quite sure. ‘I can’t. Bloody hell, when did I get so _old_?’

Jemma scoffs, reaching out to shove him on the shoulder. ‘You’re not old. Not yet, anyway. Another five years, maybe, and then you’ll be old. Can you imagine what you’ll be doing in five years?’

‘No. Can you?’

‘Oh.’ Her eyes are shining, either from the low light of the lamps around them or from the alcohol. He can’t really tell, and he doesn’t really care. She looks radiant, either way. ‘Absolutely.’

‘Really?’ 

Fitz sits up a little straighter. A minute ago, his mind had been somewhere else, chasing up on the leads and the stories he could be following if he wasn’t here. But now, all those stories have dimmed from view and he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

He doesn’t want to hear anybody’s story but hers.

‘What will you be doing?’

Exactly what I’m doing now,’ Jemma declares, stretching out her arm on the back of the booth. ‘But I’ll be even better at it and everyone will know it.’

Fitz grins to himself and nods, _of course that’s where you’ll be_. The skin of her elbow is just resting against his.

‘And I won’t live here,’ Jemma adds after a moment. ‘I’ll live somewhere else, somewhere with bay windows and hardwood floors, somewhere…somewhere perfect. We’ll make it perfect, Fitz.’

She says it so fluidly, so confidently, that he has to do a double take before opening his mouth.

‘W-we? Am I there too?’

Jemma’s eyes widen. ‘But of course you are! Where else would you be?’

(She knows him too well. His head and his heart.)

‘And who else is there,’ Jemma continues idly, ‘to paint our front door the perfect shade of green?’

She is drunk, and so is he, but the world she is drawing for him is too delicious for him to protest it. Grinning broadly, Fitz sinks back in his seat and plays along.

‘We’d have to commute, of course,’ he remarks. ‘That would be a big of a bugger.’

‘Urgh.’ He turns just in time to watch Jemma wrinkle up her nose in distaste, creasing up her freckles. He loves it when she looks like that. ‘I suppose we would, wouldn’t we?’

‘Mmm.’ Fitz lets his arm fall from the back of the booth, so that it rests across her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry though. I’ll buy us a motorbike and sidecar so we can nip out to wherever we need to be whenever we need to be there.’

Jemma laughs out loud, her head tipping back so that her hair tickles the skin of his forearm. ‘Oh, would you now?’

‘I would.’

‘Me on the bike and you in the sidecar?’

‘Naturally.’

‘And where,’ Jemma asks, her eyes glinting at him through the haze of smoke, ‘do you propose the children travel?’

Fitz has to suck in a breath, steadying himself, before he answers her.

‘Who, Alfred and Cecily? I’d build a wooden wagon and we’d pull them along behind us.’

Jemma rolls her eyes, but there is fondness in the gesture. She shuffles even closer to him, so she is practically sitting in his lap, and her head falls down to rest upon his chest. She is hot, and heavy, and she smells like burnt sugar.

‘We’d be happy there,’ she murmurs, ‘wouldn’t we?’

Fitz nods, allowing his hand to trace delicate circles on her shoulder blades.

‘Happier than we’ve ever been before in our lives.’

Jemma sighs, contentedly, and doesn’t move away. Instead, she reaches out to take his hand as she lies across him, twining their fingers together across her lap. Fitz lets her, as he’d let her do just about anything, and he watches the room in front of him spin, framed by the smoke and the lamps and the top of Jemma’s head, rising and falling with every breath he takes.

It is only a story. 

Fitz knows that, knows that the future they have just woven for themselves is pure fabrication. It is a story, fiction infused by affection and alcohol. But, as every good journalist knows, all stories have to come from somewhere.

All stories are born from just a little bit of desire.

 

 

 


	19. christmas stocking au part i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons and pregnancy announcement via a christmas stocking.

 

 

The sleet outside the window is only just beginning to turn into snow, proper, fluffy, white snow, when Jemma hears the car pull up on the street below. From her spot on the sofa, she waits, listening out for Fitz’s footsteps on the stairwell and making sure to account for him taking the steps two at a time.

His unabating eagerness to always get home to her never fails to make her heart skip a beat inside her chest.

She looks up just as the front door opens and Fitz all but falls inside. His coat is falling off one of his shoulders, his bag is open and there are still flakes of snow gathered in his hair. But then he looks up at her, and the warmth of his grin alone is enough to melt them all completely.

‘Hey.’ He shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the coat-rack.’You okay?’

Jemma nods, watching him move into the kitchen and flick the kettle on, pulling out two mugs to prepare for tea. ‘Fine, thank you. How was today? I can’t believe they called you in on _Christmas Eve_ , of all days…’

‘Yeah, it was a bit of a pain, I know, but it turned out alright in the end. I did some science, we caught the bad guy…’ Here, he pauses to twirl his teaspoon into the air, catching it with a flourish. ‘All in a day’s work, really. I’m bloody freezing now though.’

‘Mmm.’ Jemma pulls her blanket further around her and wriggles her toes underneath it. ‘I’m wonderfully cosy under here,’ she teases.

Fitz laughs aloud. ‘I bet you are,’ he says, crossing the room to lean over the sofa and kiss her.

He is right; he _is_ freezing. His nose against hers feels almost arctic and as their lips fit together Jemma can almost feel him stealing her warmth away from her. She doesn’t really care, though. After all, there isn’t anything in her life she wouldn’t willingly give to him.

When Fitz starts to draw away from the kiss, she holds him tight, her palms on either side of his face. With a smile, she gives him one last, warming kiss on the tip of his nose.

‘I missed you,’ she murmurs.

Fitz smiles back, brushing the back of his hand across her cheek.

‘I missed you too.’

He goes back to the kitchen to collect their tea and Jemma starts to reorganise herself on the sofa, shifting sideways and tugging at pillows so that she can accommodate him. Fitz sits down heavily beside her, automatically lifting up his arm so that she can crawl into his side, resting in her favourite spot against his chest.

‘Everything looks _amazing_ , Jemma,’ he says into her hair. ‘Really.’

Unable to help herself, Jemma feels her chest puff up a little with pride. Whilst her boyfriend had spent his day battling Watchdogs, she had spent hers decorating their apartment for Christmas, a challenge she liked to think had taken no less dedication and concentration.

She has strung golden strings of lights from every corner of the living room, draping extra around the small potter fir tree in the corner. There is a handmade star carefully positioned on the top of the tree, a gift sent over from her mum for the two of them, and a small cluster of presents are set out underneath it for the morning. Across the mantle piece, real branches of holly and ivy drape, tied together with red ribbons, brown twine and a lot of cursing on Jemma’s part.

‘Thank you.’ She pats him gratefully on the leg. ‘I only wish we could have done it together.’

‘I know.’ Fitz sighs, rubbing his thumb comfortingly against her shoulder and pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of her head. ‘Fingers crossed for next year, yeah?’

Jemma nods, feeling a fluttering deep in her stomach. 

‘Next year,’ she repeats softly.

For a moment, they simply sit together, each revelling in the other’s presence, in their warmth and in the reassuring rise and fall of their chests. Jemma doesn’t think that she could ever begin to take these moments for granted.

But tonight there is something that she is pretty eager to hurry along to.

She twists her head upwards and raises an eyebrow.

‘Do you want to do the stockings now?’

Fitz’s grin broadens and he nods enthusiastically. Taking both their mugs and setting them on the coffee table, he slides off the sofa and makes his way over to the cardboard box at the bottom of the fireplace.

While his back is turned, Jemma quickly reaches behind the cushion at her back and retrieves the small, soft object she had hidden there before he had got home, stuffing it into her back pocket before Fitz glances over at her expectantly.

Smiling, she gets up off the sofa to join him in front of the fireplace.

‘Alright…’ Fitz has their two stockings held in either one of his hands and he squints at them both. 

His mum had knitted them the first Christmas she had spent at the Fitz household, and they had followed her and Fitz wherever their lives had taken them. On Jemma’s, a giant ‘J’ is embroidered, on Fitz’s, a large ‘F’. 

He holds one out to her. ‘This one is yours.’

She takes it from him, running the familiar wool underneath her fingertips. Unexpectedly, it makes tears spring to her eyes.

They hang their stockings together, side by side on the fireplace. Stepping back to admire them, Jemma allows her head to fall onto Fitz’s shoulder, into the space that feels like it was carved out just for her.

‘Perfect,’ Fitz whispers.

Taking a deep breath, Jemma steps away and reaches into her pocket.

‘Not quite.’

She takes out a sock, one she had painstakingly knitted herself this afternoon, cross-legged on the sofa. The sock is small and yellow and slightly wonky in place where she got the stitching wrong but she clutches it in her hands as if it is the most precious thing in the world.

Fitz’s face creases up curiously as she feels across the mantle for the last hook and hangs the sock up, in between their two larger stockings.

‘For the third person,’ she says quietly, ‘joining us this Christmas.’

She watches his face anxiously, waiting for her words to sink in.

‘If you’re taking about Daisy,’ Fitz says, rubbing his chin in confusion, ‘then I reckon she’s going to be disappointed if that’s the size of her stocking compared to ours…and besides, I thought she was spending Christmas at the Playground…’

Biting her lip to contain her laughter - wonderful man, _idiot_ man - Jemma shakes her head, closing the distance between them until she is standing directly in front of him.

‘No,’ she says, taking his hands in hers. ‘I’m not talking about Daisy.’

Very carefully, she takes one of his hands and guides it down to rest against her lower abdomen. Hearing Fitz suck in a sharp breath, Jemma glances up just in time to see the understanding dawn across his face.

‘We’re…we’re…’

A giggle escapes from Jemma’s lips and, practically bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, she nods, gripping his hands excitedly.

‘We’re having a baby.’

Fitz’s face is luminous, brighter than the lights creating a halo around his head, as he looks at her, his disbelief melting into delight.

‘We’re having a baby,’ he repeats with a quick breath of laughter, and then he is surging forward, taking her into his arms and kissing her.

Jemma is still smiling through the kiss, looping her arms around his neck as she tries to commit every inch of this moment to memory - the warmth of Fitz’s hands on her back, the press of his lips on hers and the absolute rush of love she can feel through out her body.

Once he pulls away, Fitz instantly bends down onto one knee, his hands framing either side of her belly and kisses her there gently, his face still utterly radiant. As she pulls him back to his feet with a laugh, Jemma is fairly certain that hers looks the exact same way.

‘Well?’ she murmurs as he pulls her close again, swaying with her gently on the spot. ‘Did I win at Christmas presents?’

Fitz chuckles lightly, bending forward to rest his forehead against her.

‘Yes, Jemma,’ he whispers, ‘you win.’

But really, Jemma thinks as he leans in to kiss her again, tonight, with a bunch of mistletoe above their heads and the promise that soon there would be a little bit more of them in the world, weren’t they both winners?

 

 


	20. fitz speaking scottish gaelic for jemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitz speaking scottish gaelic for jemma

 

 

Yawning, Fitz drops down onto his side of the bed and bends over to untie his shoe laces. It had been a long and tiring day - chasing Lucy Bauer across the best part of Nova Scotia in Zephyr One - and he wriggles his sore toes with a sigh.

A shadow falls across the light of the bathroom and he looks up to see Jemma standing in the doorway. She is already in her pyjamas, with her hair falling softly across her shoulders, and she is leaning against the door to watch him with a slight smile on her face.

 Feeling some of the tightness across his chest start to loosen, Fitz smiles back at her, and raises his arms to pull his shirt off over his head.

‘I didn’t know you could speak Gaelic.’

 _Ah_. 

He had forgotten that she was going to ask about _that_.

This morning, when Mack and May had tracked Dr Bauer to an abandoned medical facility, they had encountered a brick in the wall with the word “ _putaidh_ ” etched into it.

‘ _What the hell is that supposed to mean_?’ Mack’s voice had asked him through the comms. ‘ _Sounds like damn gibberish to me_.’

Jemma had begun a feverish search on SHIELD’s language data base, but the sight of the seemingly random letters arranged together had triggered something so far back in Fitz’s memory he’d thought he’d forgotten it altogether.

‘” _Push_ ”,’ he had translated, before he quite knew he was doing it. ‘Push the brick, May!’

She had done so, and the wall in front of them had folded back to reveal a hidden laboratory.

There hadn’t been time then for Jemma to interrogate him on how he’d understood the word, but Fitz had known that he would have plenty of explaining to do sometime later on. 

And that time, apparently, was now.

Shrugging off his shirt, Fitz tosses it into a corner of the room.

‘I don’t,’ he admits, ‘not really.’

Jemma crosses her arms over her chest. ‘It sounded like you did this morning. How did you know what _putaidh_ meant?’

Sighing, Fitz leans back, both his palms spread out on the bed.

‘We used to get taught Gaelic at school,’ he admits, ‘when we were really little. Simple stuff: ‘yes’, ‘no’, commands, a little bit of poetry. I honestly thought I’d forgotten it all until this morning.’

Biting at her bottom lip, Jemma pushes herself off the door frame and crosses the room towards him. Fitz wordessly opens his legs to allow her to step between them and sit on his knee. She loops her arms around his neck and Fitz resists the urge to kiss her collarbone.

‘You never told me about that,’ she says, but there is no bitterness in her tone, only curiosity.

He gives in, and presses his lips to the base of her neck, letting them slip just below the collar of her pyjama top. Jemma shivers, letting her head tip backwards slightly.

‘It never came up.’ Fitz wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her even closer to him. ‘Besides, it’s not as if it’s a common thing. It would be like you telling me you could speak Old English.’

‘Ah…’ Jemma pulls back a little so he can see her face; she is grimacing, a little sheepishly. ‘Um, I can actually.’

Fitz blinks. ‘You’re kidding me.’

She shakes her head, her hair ticking his cheek. ‘I took a class on it at university. For fun, obviously.’

‘Oh, _obviously_.’

Jemma rolls her eyes, letting her head loll on his shoulder so she can kiss his neck. Fitz twists his head to catch her lips, losing his balance on the bed so that they fall backwards together between the sheets.

‘Say something to me,’ Jemma murmurs, her breath hot against his skin. 

He kisses her again, tasting the fresh mint of her toothpaste against his tongue. ‘I haven’t cleaned my teeth yet.’

Jemma groans, half-making to roll off his chest, but before she can, Fitz pulls her back, feeling her laughter rumble against his stomach.

‘I meant,’ she says, holding his face still between her hands, ‘say something to me in Gaelic.’

‘Are you going to say something to me in Old English?’

‘If you want me to.’

He bounces her gently, his fingertips sliding underneath the hem of her pyjama bottoms. ‘I do.’

Jemma smiles, raising herself up onto her elbows. The light from the bedside lamp is soft on her skin, brightening her freckles and darkening her eyes as she thinks, a tiny frown appearing on her forehead.

‘Alright,’ she says softly after a few moments, and licks her lips. ‘” _Ic þe lufie_ ”.’ 

Her pronunciation is careful, and she says each syllable as if it is something precious, and it makes Fitz’s breath catch in his throat.

‘What does that mean?’ he whispers.

Jemma bends down to kiss him again, her lips opening his and her fingers sliding up into his hair.

‘ _”I love you”_.’ 

Fitz can’t stop himself from grinning, his mouth still pressed against hers, and he very slowly rolls them over so that they are both lying on their sides, face to face against the pillow.

Jemma breaks away from the kiss, sucking in a gasp of breath.

‘Now, you,’ she says against his lips. ‘Say something to me.’

As he kisses her, Fitz tries to think, but it’s so hard for him to think of anything much when she is this close to him, this a part of him. But then Jemma’s hand sinks to his chest and he can feel the pulse of her fingertips on his skin and the words he needs to say come flooding back to him.

‘” _’s ann leatsa_ ”,’ he says, penetrating every word with a light kiss to her lips, ‘ _a tha mo chridhe gu brath”_.’

Jemma sighs, and he watches her eyelids flicker.

‘What does it mean?’ she asks, with her eyes still closed.

Fitz grins again, and leans across to kiss each of her eyelids in turn.

‘ _“My heart is yours”,’_ he translates softly. ‘” _Forever_ ”.’

The smile Jemma gives him when she opens his eyes makes his heart feel like it has swelled to triple it’s usual size. 

Fitz doesn’t even wait for her to reach out for him; instead he shifts across the bed to pull her close once more, his hands on her hips and his lips finding hers.

‘I love you,’ Jemma whispers to him between kisses. ‘In every language.'

 

 


	21. 4x07 coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a post 4x07 scene

 

 

They have been lying in each other’s arms for almost five hours now, quietly exchanging stories in between tender kisses and touches as the base falls asleep and the sun goes down around them.

Fitz has been kissing her in places she didn’t even know could be kissed, his lips finding every curve and crevice that they can to leave their mark. It feels as if he is memorising her, creating a map out of her freckles that he can always use to find his way home.

In return, Jemma’s hands have been searching out every inch of his skin that she can touch, running her fingers up and down his sides and across the small of his back. She presses her palms flat against his chest to feel the thudding of his heart, beating out the silent promise that he would always, _always_ come back to her.

It is this that reminds her, quite suddenly, that there is something she needs to say.

‘Fitz?’

‘Mmm?’ His kiss misses her lips as she shifts further up the pillow, catching her on the corner of her mouth instead. Apparently he quite likes this, as he does it again, and then again on the other side. ‘What is it? Are you okay?’

She nods without even thinking about it - because she is okay, because _he_ is okay, because how could anything not be okay now that they are together again? - but then she remembers the past day’s events and changes her mind, shaking her head.

‘I need…’

Fitz’s face falls as she props herself up on her elbows, pushing him into a half sitting position. To stop him from moving too far away from her, Jemma grabs a hold of his wrist, stroking the soft skin there with her thumb. Taking a deep breath, she looks up to meet his eyes.

‘I need you to promise me something.’

Relief flashes over Fitz’s features and he nods eagerly, surging forward to catch the back of her head in his hand and bring his lips back to hers.

‘Anything,’ he mumbles against her. ‘I’ll promise you anything.’

The words, framed as they are through his kisses, make Jemma’s heart beat faster and she can’t help herself from reaching up to loop her arms around his neck.

They sway together, held up only by Fitz’s free hand balanced on the bed, as their kisses take on a new, slightly more urgent rhythm than they had before. It is almost enough to detract Jemma from her original purpose.

_Almost._

Giving him one last, lingering kiss, she pulls away so that she can hold his face between her hands.

‘I need you to promise me,’ she whispers, ‘that we will never walk away from a fight again…without saying _I love you_ first.’

Her lip quivers over the last four words, and even in the dim light of their bunk, Fitz must have seen, because his whole face softens.

‘Oh, _Jemma_ …’

He groans softly, before reaching out to pull her into him, wrapping his arms around her back and pressing his lips to her temple. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Jemma allows him to hold her for a moment, indulgently drawing comfort from the familiar weight of his arms and the smell of his skin, reminding her that he is home and he is alive and _hers_.

‘It’s okay,’ Fitz whispers, threading his fingers through her hair. There is a dampness to the top of her head that makes her wonder if he is crying too. ‘Everything’s okay.’

‘But,’ she mumbles back, pulling them apart so that their noses are pressed together, ‘it so easily couldn’t have been. And if the worst…’ She shudders involuntarily, and Fitz’s grip on her waist tightens. ‘If the worst had happened, the last thing we’d said to each other would have been-’

‘Hey.’ He cuts her off with a kiss, gentle and light. ‘Hey. Stop that. What happened in the lab that morning…that meant nothing…’

Jemma shoots him a withering look. ‘Fitz, I listened to your voicemails. In some of the earlier ones you thought I was ignoring you on purpose, and you sounded…’

He is shaking his head so hard that she trails off without finishing her sentence.

‘That was my fault,’ Fitz says, fiercely. ‘I was worried, and stressed, and I took that out on my messages to you. I know that you’d never do anything like that, and I am _so_ sorry-’

This time, it is she who quiets him, bringing her lips to his and letting her fingers trace the outline of his jaw. Fitz responds gratefully, his teeth just scrapping the inside of her bottom lip, before he carefully lowers her back down onto the bed so that she is flat on her back with him resting above her.

‘You have nothing to be sorry for,’ she whispers, equally fiercely. ‘Not for me. Not ever.’

Fitz kisses her again, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. ‘Nor you me.’

‘But that’s just it.’ Blinking up at him, Jemma takes a deep breath while she organises her thoughts. ‘We _are_ going to have more spats, and we _are_ going to get into more dangerous situations. But I never want to walk away from you like that again without reminding you of how much you mean to me. I won’t…’ She shakes her head. ‘I can’t do that again. I can’t _feel_ like that again.’

Fitz’s face had creased in front of her as she spoke and, as he leans down to kiss her, she can see the tears shining in his eyes.

‘I love you,’ he breathes, the words tickling Jemma’s lips.

Blinking back her own tears, she offers him a smile. ‘So, is that a yes, then? To the promise?’

‘Yes.’ Fitz nods, dipping his forehead down to rest against hers. ‘Yes, it’s a promise. We will never again walk away from a fight, however small, however insignificant it might be, without first saying _I love you_.’

The relief that floods through Jemma’s bones is so immense that it makes her laugh. Reaching upwards, it takes only the slightest tug to his collar to bring Fitz back down to meet her, his lips already parted for her kiss.

They fit together so easily and so effortlessly now that it takes only a single heartbeat for their two bodies to feel like they are one. It makes Jemma smile to think of, even as Fitz’s lips dance over hers.

‘It’s perfect, really,’ she whispers.

‘Hmm?’ Fitz cocks his head, using the opportunity to leave a trail of kisses down her hairline. ‘How so?’

With a secret grin, Jemma gives him a soft push to the chest. Obediently, Fitz falls backwards, and since his arms are still clasped around her she falls with him. Straddling his chest with her feet tucked into his sides, she leans forward to kiss him so deeply it makes her stomach ache.

‘This way we’ve got even more reason to come back to each other. So that we always get to say _I love you too_.’

Fitz chuckles, his hands coming up to skim the hem of her shirt and, from the way he is looking at her, Jemma gets the feeling that she isn’t going to be wearing it for much longer.

‘You say that,’ he murmurs, ‘as if I ever needed _any_ reason at all to come back to you.’

 

 


	22. strictly come dancing au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fs + slow dancing. i took the liberty of making it into a strictly come dancing au!

 

 

‘And a one, and two, one, and two, one and- _Fitz_!’

With a groan, he lets his hands fall to his sides and he steps away from her. Arching his back to relieve it of the ache it has accumulated over the evening, Fitz shakes his head in frustration.

‘Sorry, I’m sorry.’

It is not that he is finding the samba particularly difficult. Well, he is: it is a fast paced dance, much more intricate than their waltz had been last week, a waltz that had earned them the first ten points of the series, and the dips and tricks Jemma has integrated to their routine are so difficult that it makes him pale just to think of them.

No, what is throwing Fitz off course this week is the memory of last Sunday when they’d discovered they were through to the next show, and Jemma had brought her face so close to his that his heart had skipped a beat, thinking she was going to kiss him then and there. And now, as she stands in front of him with her arms crossed and her hair escaping in loose wisps from her ponytail and her eyes wide with concern, a part of him aches because she didn’t.

‘I’m sorry,’ he repeats.

Jemma shakes her head, stepping forward to rest a hand on his shoulder. Even this, the slightest of touches, is enough to make him shiver.

‘I think,’ she says softly, ‘that we need a change of pace for a while, don’t you?’

Fitz looks up as her hand leaves his shoulder, her fingers trailing all the way down him arm as she makes her way over to her phone. With a few quick taps, the sharp beat of the samba music is gone, replaced with the beats of a song he knows only too well.

‘The Smiths?’ He raises his eyebrows as she walks back to him. ‘That’s one of my favourites.’

‘I know,’ Jemma says, and underneath the flush of her cheeks from exertion he thinks he sees her blush. ‘Once I found out you were my partner, I, um, watched a few of your interviews. You mentioned it in one, and I remembered.’

‘You remembered,’ Fitz repeats, and it makes something tighten across his heart.

Clearing her throat, Jemma holds out her hand to him. ‘Leopold Fitz, would you like to dance with me?’

‘That’s what I’m here to do,’ he replies with a smile, taking her hand and allowing her to guide him into hold, a position that, after six weeks in the competition, is beginning to feel more and more like home.

They start to move to the music. It’s a steady beat, certainly nothing like the samba music, and Fitz can’t help but give a little sigh of relief as his feet catch a hold of the rhythm and he is able to move with Jemma across the practice studio without tripping over his, or her, feet.

‘You don’t need to worry yourself so much, Fitz,’ she murmurs to him as they dance. ‘Truly. You’re doing a marvellous job.’

Unable to stop himself, Fitz snorts in disbelief. ‘I bet you say that to all your partners,’ he teases.

Jemma gasps. ‘I do not!’ she says, tightening her hold on his shoulder. ‘And I mean that. You are marvellous, probably the best dancing partner I have ever had.’

‘Now I _know_ you’re lying to make me feel better. Jemma, you’ve danced with some of the best dancers on the planet. You _are_ one of the best dancers on the planet.’

‘While that may be true,’ she agrees, lifting up her arm to let him spin her, ‘dancing with all those professional dancers…well, they’re talented, I can’t deny that. Some of them could even be considered geniuses, but there’s been…I’ve never felt…’

She sighs as she falls back into hold, swaying on the balls of her feet as he holds her steady.

‘It’s never felt quite right,’ she decides, her fingertips brushing against the thin fabric of his t-shirt. ‘I’ve never felt quite so in tune with them, like I do when I’m working with you.’

A wide grin spreads across Fitz’s face at her words, and as she leans in closer, so that her head is resting on his chest, he feels something inside him start to glow.

They are still moving together, circling the room slowly and gently to the rhythm of the song. After almost two months of learning to dance with her, Fitz feels his body bend to accommodate Jemma’s; he is able to anticipate her every twist and step which means that they are able to move together, two pieces of a living, breathing machine.

As he twirls her again, catching a glimpse of her smile underneath his arms, the lightness of her motions makes him gasp.

‘How do you manage it?’ he asks, the words all but falling out of his mouth.

Jemma laughs, twisting her head so that the top of her hair tickles his chin. ‘How do I manage what?’

‘Staying so soft.’ He lifts their joined hands up, spreading out his fingers so that hers move with him, an extension of his body. ‘How do you stay so soft in a job that makes you work so bloody hard?’

With a soft chuckle, Jemma shakes her head. ‘Trust me,’ she says ruefully, ‘if you saw the callouses on the bottom of my feet you wouldn’t think I was quite so soft.’

She settles back against him as they resume their dancing. The song finishes, but neither of them pull apart and neither of them suggest picking a new one.

After a few more slow circles, Jemma speaks again, a little hesitantly.

‘Do…do you really think I’m soft?’

In surprise, Fitz pulls back so that she has to lift her gaze to meet his. ‘Jemma…you’re the softest person I’ve ever known. But you’re also the strongest too.’

Her eyes, looking into his, have started to shine and it is this that gives him the courage to continue.

‘And you’re…you’re the reason that I want to win this. I want to win this for you, because I feel the exact same way. Dancing with you, it feels like I’m finally in tune. Like everything is exactly where it’s meant to be.’

He can feel himself shaking as he says the last words, but Jemma’s face is completely alight as she presses herself up closer to him. Her hands have found their way to his neck and she has pulled herself up onto her tiptoes to rest her forehead on his.

The kiss is dizzying, her lips hot against his as they move like their bodies had just moments ago: soft and slow and impossibly gentle. When Jemma eventually steps backwards, a small smile playing on her lips, Fitz finds that she has left him utterly speechless.

‘In that case,’ she says, and there is a huskiness to her voice that brings goosebumps out on his arms, ‘I suppose we had better get started, hadn’t we?’

This time, when she puts the samba music back on, Fitz matches her every step perfectly.

 

 


	23. wedding slow dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fs + slow dancing at their wedding.

 

 

In an interesting break from tradition, the bride and groom are the last ones on the dance floor. Once the rest of their friends have departed, sloping off to find their beds or a drink of cold water, Fitz and Jemma are still wrapped in each other’s arms, spinning in slow, deliberate circles around the room.

Having kicked off her shoes hours ago, Jemma’s head fits perfectly into Fitz’s shoulder as they sway, their bodies pressed so close together that she can feel his heartbeats through his shirt.

They have been dancing like this for so long now that she is starting to wonder whether they will ever make the move to their bedroom, to begin their wedding night. Unexpectedly, and much to her own surprise, Jemma finds that she is in no hurry at all to get there. Tonight, it feels as if time is stretching out for them, an endless expanse of forever for as long as they need it to be.

Glancing down at their joined hands, she feels a silent thrill at the sight of their matching golden rings, a reminder that they do, quite literally, have forever.

To be specific about it, she and Fitz had the rest of their lives.

She can’t help but smile as he twirls her around, letting her out of his arms for a moment before pulling her back in. When he does so, she falls back to exactly where she had been before, almost as if there is a magnet inside her heart bringing her right back to him.

Tilting her chin up, Jemma presses a string of kisses to his jawline, ending with one at the edge of him mouth.

‘I love you.’

Fitz glances down at her, his face bemused. ‘Aren’t you bored of saying that yet today?’

She shakes her head. ‘Absolutely not.’

Pushing herself up onto her tiptoes, Jemma loops her arms around his neck so that she can kiss him properly on the lips. She feels Fitz’s hands come up to her sides, steadying her as they continue to sway on the spot.

‘I could say it a hundred thousand times,’ she says softly, ‘and I don’t think I would ever get bored of saying it to you.’

Fitz grins, leaning down to kiss her back, his mouth infinitely gentle on hers.

‘And I don’t think I would ever get bored of hearing you say it.’

‘Is that a challenge, Dr. Fitz-Simmons?’ Jemma teases.

He winks at her, before moving his hands to the small of her back and dipping her so low that the tips of her hair brush the ground. As he sweeps her back up, he brings his lips to hers again, silencing her laughter with a kiss.

‘Why, maybe it is, Dr. Fitz-Simmons.’

Now she is back on her feet, they resume their gentle swaying, their feet moving in perfect time with each other. The music of the party around them had vanished long ago, but neither of them had taken any heed of it, even when it was there. Ever since they had stepped into each other’s arms, it had felt like the rest of the world had been washed away.

‘In that case then…’ Bringing her arms back around his neck, Jemma reaches up to peck him on the tip of his nose. ‘I suppose I had better get started.’

‘Mmm?’ Fitz retaliates, his fingertips skimming at her hips as he kisses her. ‘Go on then.’

‘I love you.’ Wrapping her arms across his shoulders, she leans forward to rest her chin on his shirt. ‘I love you, and I love you, and I love you.’ She permeates every affirmation with a nuzzle to his neck, taking a shameless delight in how each one makes him shiver. 

When she stops, Fitz’s head droops down to rest against hers, one of his hands coming up to stroke her hair.

‘I love you too.’

And suddenly, Jemma understands how she could say the exact same words to him a hundred thousand times over and he wouldn’t tire of hearing them. To her own ears in that moment, those three little words make her heart feel undeniably whole.

‘Incredible to think, isn’t it?’ she whispers, twisting her hands into the fabric of his shirt. ‘That we have the time to say that a hundred thousand times over.’

Fitz chuckles, and twirls her again. Spinning out from him, Jemma tilts her head back, unafraid that he wouldn’t be waiting to catch her again. When she lands safely back in his arms, she cannot help but smile.

‘I’d say them all tonight if you wanted me to,’ Fitz promises, holding her close. ‘I’d write it in the stars if you asked.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t ask you to do that.’ Leaning up, she kisses him long and slow, until her chest starts to ache with it. ‘If you went all the way up to the stars to write it, I’d miss you too much to let you go.’

‘Oh, well…’ Fitz nods in mock seriousness, before reaching out to cup her chin and bring her back into him. ‘In that case…’

Even as his head starts to tip towards hers, Jemma starts to grin, closing her eyes and stretching herself forward to meet him halfway. The kiss is so deep that it makes her feel weak at the knees, and she has to tighten her grip on his neck to stop herself from slipping away. The careful strength with which Fitz’s hands are holding her let her know that he would never let that happen, not ever again.

They have stopped dancing now and are simply standing in the middle of the dance floor, kissing as though it is the only thing they were put on this earth to do. When one of Fitz’s kisses reaches so deep inside her that it makes her stomach start to twist, Jemma gasps, realising that, all of a sudden, she is finally ready for the next part of her wedding night to begin.

The intensity burning in Fitz’s eyes as he looks at her tells her that, like so many times before, they are thinking the exact same thing.

‘Jemma,’ he murmurs, in a voice so low it makes her whole body quiver. ‘May I take you to bed?’

Nodding, she surges forward, her hands on either side of his face, and kisses him again.

‘Yes,’ she breathes against his lips. ‘You may.’

She feels Fitz grin against her and, suddenly, his hands shift across her back. With a small, suppressed grunt, he bends down and lifts her up into his arms.

Laughing, Jemma presses a gentle kiss to his cheek as she lets him carry her off into the rest of their lives.

 

 


	24. fs moving into their double bunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons moving into their double bunk in the base.

 

 

‘Jemma?’

‘Hmm?’

‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘Oh? What about?’

‘About how incredible it is that, after all this time, we can now be together whenever we want. Whenever I want you, I don’t even have to reach out because you’re already right next to me, with your cold little hands on my back and your freezing feet up the legs of my pyjama bottoms…’

At this point, Jemma lifts her head up from his chest and frowns at him. ‘Leopold Fitz, what are you trying to say?’

He would have sighed deeply, had she not been lying flat on his chest and preventing him from being able to move that much.

‘What I think I’m trying to say,’ he tries again, ‘is that I love sleeping in your tiny, standard regulation single bed with you. I love it, love every single minute of it, but…’

Jemma blinks at him, her eyes still foggy with sleep. ‘But what?’

Taking both her hands in his own, Fitz swallows hard. ‘But, I was wondering whether it might be time to ask Coulson about us moving into a new bunk…a double one…together?’

‘Oh.’ Her forehead creases, and she slumps back down onto him, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. ‘Do you think he’ll let us?’

‘I shouldn’t see why not.’ A deep warmth spreads through his body at the feel of her touch, and he impulsively bobs down to peck her on the top of her hair. ‘There are a handful of double bunks on the base, and most of them are unused, so it makes sense to put them to use.’

Jemma gives a slight hum of agreement, her lips vibrating softly against his neck. ‘I suppose that’s logical. We’ll ask him, then.’

‘Excellent!’ Underneath her, Fitz shifts, trying to shake the cramp out of his leg. ‘I’ll start drafting the email as soon as we get up.’

Pulling a face, Jemma pushes herself up onto her elbows above him. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is rumpled and yet somehow she manages to look more beautiful than ever.

‘What’s the hurry?’ she teases. ‘Can’t wait to get away from me?’

‘Not at all. I’m just missing the amount of space we had in that hotel bed.’

Jemma chuckles. ‘Bucharest spoiled you,’ she observes.

‘Yeah,’ Fitz murmurs, his hands coming up to slip around her waist. ‘It certainly did.’

The last thing he sees before closing his eyes to kiss her is Jemma’s smile bending down to meet his, a perfect match. A few moments later, he deeply regrets closing them as their bodies fall sideways and, forgetting that the edge of the bed was far closer than he was used to, Fitz lets them fall.

‘Oof!’

‘Ouch!’

As uncomfortable as lying in the single bed had been, lying in a heap on the floor in a tangle of bed sheets is far more uncomfortable.

Jemma looks up at him, a little sheepishly. ‘Fitz, you know you said you were going to start that email this morning?’

Rubbing at the back of his head where it had hit the floor, Fitz grunts. ‘Yeah?’

‘Well, perhaps we could start drafting it a little sooner…like now…’

* * *

Twelve hours, fifty six minutes minutes and one logically reasoned email later, they were standing, hand in hand, in the door way of their brand new bunk. 

The double bed sits in pride of place in the middle of the room, with fresh sheets and blankets lovingly laid out for that night, and the wardrobe doors are still open, displaying his shirts amongst her jumpers and his jackets against her skirts. To the left of the bed is a door leading to the small ensuite bathroom, where Fitz can see Jemma’s toothbrush and floss sitting next to his razor on the shelf.

It is a perfect medley of him and of her, and it makes him happier than he ever thought he could be.

Squeezing her hand gently, he turns to her. ‘Well?’

Jemma is still staring at the room, her eyes slowly moving from place to place, taking everything in. She is smiling though, and she squeezes his hand back before bringing it up to her lips to press a kiss to the back of it.

‘It’s perfect,’ she whispers. ‘Absolutely perfect.’

Fitz can’t help but grin as he takes a step into the room, bringing her with him. ‘Well,’ he admonishes, ‘we don’t know that it’s _absolutely_ perfect yet.’

‘Oh?’ Jemma arches an eyebrow at him. ‘How so?’

Reaching out, he takes her by the waist and pulls her into him, revelling in the fact that this was something he could now do, whenever he wanted. ‘For starters,’ he murmurs, ‘we haven’t tested the bed out yet.’

Jemma’s eyes light up, and she has to bite her bottom lip to keep herself from grinning. ‘We haven’t, have we?’

‘No, we haven’t.’ Drawing her in close, he gives her a long, languid kiss to the top of her jawline and hears her sigh. ‘And how can a room be perfect if the bed is utterly inadequate for bouncing on?’

He pulls back just in time to watch her face fall.

‘Jemma? What did you think I meant?’

Her face colours as she blusters, her mouth hovering half open, and suddenly it is his turn to purse his lips together to stop himself laughing out loud. Jemma notices, and rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.

‘Oh, very funny…’

‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. Besides, I had to get back at you for that Seychelles-umpf!’

Before he can finish his sentence she is cupping his chin to kiss him again, her hands on either side of his face and her forehead tipping against his. Within moments, Fitz has forgotten everything he was about to say as he loses himself in the sensation of her lips against his and the warmth of her hips under his hands.

‘Though perhaps,’ he mumbles in between kisses, ‘it would make sense if we could test out the bed both ways tonight. Just to, you know. Put it to use.’

Jemma smiles against him, before giving him a gentle push backwards. Obediently, Fitz sinks down onto the end of the bed before holding out his arms to help her climb onto his lap. Looping her arms around his neck, she kisses him again, her fingers sliding underneath his shirt to play with his buttons.

‘I suppose that’s logical,’ she breathe.

This time, when Fitz closes his eyes and tips them sideways, he does so secure in the knowledge that the bed will be there to soften their fall.

It is, but by the end of the night they have still ended up on the floor.

 

 


	25. stocking au part ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a follow up to the first stocking fic from chapter nineteen!

 

 

There is no snow this year, only a thin covering of frost that turns the tips of the trees white and makes the grass crunch underfoot. Glancing out of the window, Fitz can almost pretend that the frost is snow, allowing him to kid himself, even for a moment, that his son’s first Christmas is a white one.

When he turns back to the kitchen of his and Jemma’s apartment and sees Alfie sitting in his high chair with his face covered in sticky glace icing, he realises that maybe there is more than one way to have a white Christmas.

With a groan, Fitz reaches for the warm flannel that now takes permanent residence above the sink.

‘Come here, little monkey,’ he grunts, reaching across Aflie’s tray to gently wipe his face. Alfie gurgles happily, kicking his feet as he tries to take the flannel from Fitz’s fingers. 

Teasing the cloth out from his son’s grasping hands, Fitz tosses it onto the side before scooping him up.

‘We need to get you cleaned up before Mum gets home, don’t we?’ he mumbles, tickling Alfie on his stomach to make him giggle, before sliding him into the baby carrier on his front. He had discovered over recent weeks that this was the easiest way to keep his son happy while getting things done; Alfie seemed to be soothed by the movement and it allowed him to still use both his hands.

Wandering back into the living room, his attention is pulled back to the frost covered window when a stream of light catches his eye as a car pulls up into the drive. Feeling his heart leap in his chest, Fitz grins.

‘Just as well that we did that when we did,’ he says, bouncing Alfie, ‘because it looks like Mummy’s home now.’

* * *

When Jemma pushes the front door open, her face is tired and pale but as soon as her gaze falls on Fitz and their son, she lights up.

‘Hi,’ she breathes, dropping her bags by the door and crossing the room towards them. 

‘Hey.’ Fitz can’t help but smile as she kisses him, her lips cold and her hands colder. ‘How was work?’

‘Urgh.’ Jemma pulls a face, bending down to lift Alfie out of his carrier and into her arms. ‘Pointless. A tech could have run the tests the Director pulled me in to do.’

‘Oh no.’ Fitz unbuckles the carrier and shimmies it off his chest. He is almost jealous of his infant son, clasped so carefully to his wife’s chest. ‘And on Christmas Eve as well? Our first with Alfie?’

‘I know, I know.’ Pressing her lips to Alfie’s forehead, Jemma closes her eyes. ‘But it doesn’t matter. I’m home now.’

Watching his wife craddle their son close, Fitz feels a lump appear in his throat. ‘Yeah,’ he whispers. ‘You are.’

Meeting his eye over Alfie’s head, Jemma smiles. ‘You’ve done…quite the job with the decorations,’ she says, glancing around for the first time since coming home.

Following her gaze, Fitz tries not to wince. He has never been as talented as her at decorating, and he had found it especially difficult with a squirming four month old strapped to his chest.

The fairy lights are slightly wonky, hung across the mantle piece, and the small Christmas tree in the corner is decked with baubles and tinsel, but it is a little bottom heavy and the lower branches are sagging to the floor. On the coffee table, a small plate of ginger biscuits are waiting for them, as the rather runny white icing drips steadily onto the wood of the table.

Stepping forward, Jemma rubs his shoulder reassuringly. ‘It’s perfect,’ she says, leaning into him with Alfie in between them. ‘I love it.’

Fitz grins, pulling her in close. ‘And I love you.’

‘It’s a shame we don’t have any mistletoe,’ Jemma teases. ‘Now would be the perfect time to stand under it.’

He snorts. ‘As if I need mistletoe as an excuse to kiss you.’

He can feel her smiling as he kisses her again, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek. Already, he can feel the chill she had brought in with her melting away as his lips run over hers, tracing the familiar curve of her mouth.

For a moment, he simply enjoys holding her, feeling Alfie squirm between them, then he nudges her with his shoulder.

‘Hey, you haven’t said anything about the stockings yet.’

Pulling away from him, Jemma tilts her head to one side, before turning to look at the mantle piece. Fitz watches, expectantly, as her eyes fall on their two stockings, pegged at either end, and then on the small knitted sock she had knitted to announce she was pregnant with Alfie the year before in between them, and then, finally, on the new knitted stocking hanging beside it.

Spinning back to him, Jemma’s eyebrows shoot upwards and the hand that isn’t clutching Alife goes to her stomach.

‘Fitz? Do you know something that I don’t?’

‘What?’ 

He frowns, his eyes flitting from her to the fireplace, trying to put together the same pieces she has. Then, as he notes the four stockings hanging on the fireplace, it clicks.

‘Oh!’ Chucking, he shakes his head and steps forward to take her into his arms again. Alfie’s tiny hand bats at his cheek, and he takes him from Jemma, planting a kiss to his forehead as he tucks him into his shoulder. ‘Uh, no, I don’t. Mum sent it for Alfie, it arrived this morning. In retrospect, that was probably a very misleading way to show it to you.’

‘Mmm.’ Jemma gives a hum of agreement, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling his neck. ‘Probably.’

Glancing back at the mantle piece, Fitz feels a slight pang of nostalgia at the sight of the yellow sock, and all the memories that it held.

‘I should probably take that down, actually,’ he says, walking across the room. ‘Prevent any one else from getting the wrong idea.’

‘Oh, no, don’t!’ Jemma has hurried after him, and she places her hand on his to stop him. ‘I love having it there. It reminds me of last Christmas.’

He shouldn’t really be surprised at how easily she was thinking the exact same as him, not after all this time. But every time it happens, it takes his breath away.

Jemma must have noticed him smiling at her, because she gives him a peculiar look.

‘What is it?’

Fitz just shakes his head. ‘Nothing. Okay, we’ll keep it up.’

‘And who knows,’ Jemma remarks airily as they sit down on the sofa, Alfie sat between them, ‘maybe one year I’ll have to use it again.’

Looking at her, with her little finger held inside Alfie’s fist and her face bright with happiness and the glow of the Christmas lights, Fitz can’t help but feel a pang in the middle of his chest again, but this time one of excitement and love and hope.

‘Yeah,’ he whispers, ‘who knows?’

 

 


	26. stocking au part iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a third instalment of the stocking drabbles!

 

 

On the first Christmas morning Fitz and Jemma had spent together in their apartment, they had lain in bed until noon, wrapped up in each other’s arms and dreaming of the future.

Since then, however, their Christmas mornings had begun much earlier, and had always been a flurry of activity: nappy changing, making breakfasts, soothing tears and, most importantly, helping to unwrap the gifts Father Christmas had left at the bottom of the tree.

When she hears her bedroom door creak open at seven am on the dot, Jemma realises that this Christmas, the eighth they had spent together as a family, was about to be no different.

Even so, she cannot help but grin at the sound of tiny, pattering feet making their way across the carpet towards the bed.

‘Happy Christmas, Mummy!’

Jemma opens one eye just in time to see her four year old son take a running leap onto her side of the bed, his brown curls flying and the knitted blue sock held in his hand clutched tightly to his chest.

Smiling, she sits up and holds out her arms to him. ‘Happy Christmas, Ollie,’ she whispers, as he crawls into her lap to allow her to plant a warm kiss to the top of his head.

Next to her, Fitz is only just beginning to stir, his hand coming up to squeeze her wrist gently. Giving his fingers a quick squeeze back, Jemma turns her attention to the bedroom door, as Alfie follows his brother in, leading his little sister Hazel by the hand.

‘Merry Christmas, my darlings,’ she says, blowing Alfie a kiss over Ollie’s head. ‘Hazel, go see if you can wake Daddy up.’

Eyes sparkling, Hazel drops her brother’s hand and hurries around the other side of the bed to where Fitz’s arms are already waiting to lift her up onto the bed, much to her delight.

‘Has Father Christmas been?’ he asks her, rolling onto his side so that he can push himself up into a sitting position.

Hazel nods enthusiastically, lifting up her purple sock, filled to bursting with tiny, wrapped presents, for him to see.

‘And there’s more presents downstairs,’ Alfie adds, climbing onto the bed to sit at their feet. He is trying, Jemma notes, to act the responsible elder sibling, but there is a tremor of excitement to his voice that makes her smile. ‘Lots and lots under the tree!’

‘Well!’ Catching Fitz’s eye across the bed long enough to give him a sly wink, Jemma ruffles Ollie’s hair. ‘I suppose we had better get started then, hadn’t we?’

Almost as if she had flipped a switch, all three children dive into their stockings and soon there is coloured wrapping paper strewn over the blankets and small toy cars and boats are being driven across their knees. 

As she smooths out the paper and folds up the ribbons, Jemma notes the differences in her children. Alfie likes to savour his presents, unwrapping them slowly and examining each one before carefully putting it to one side to start on his next. Ollie is a whirlwind of paper and bows, eagerly trying to get from one present to the next as fast as he can. His twin, in contrast, is far more interested in the wrapping and ribbons than she is the actual gifts.

Meeting Fitz’s gaze over their children’s heads and seeing the love reflected, clear as day, in his eyes, Jemma feels her heart swell.

 _Merry Christmas_ , she mouths across to him.

With a grin, he blows her a kiss across the bed.

_Merry Christmas, Jemma._

‘Tell us the story again, Daddy,’ Ollie demands, clambering over Jemma’s leg to reach his father.

‘Which story, my man?’ Now with one twin in each arm, Fitz bobs his head from one to the other, blowing raspberries on their foreheads and eliciting delighted shrieks from both of them.

‘The sock story! Tell us why we have Christmas socks and not stockings.’

‘Oh, no.’ Shaking his head, Fitz rescues a set of miniature paints from underneath Hazel’s pyjama bottoms. ‘I can’t tell it. It’s Mum’s story more than mine.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ Jemma says with a chuckle. ‘I like to think it’s _both_ of our story.’

 _In fact_ , she thinks with a smile, _it’s_ all _of our story_.

‘Tell it then, Mum,’ Alfie joins in, already unwrapping a chocolate coin to pop in his mouth. ‘Please.’

‘Please,’ Hazel adds, never wanting to be left out of anything her brothers were doing.

With a sigh, Jemma reaches out and takes hold of Alfie’s tiny yellow sock, the one she had knitted on Christmas Eve eight years ago.

‘You all have Christmas socks,’ she says softly, ‘because they were how I told Daddy that you were all going to be born. I made them and hung them up on the fireplace between ours.’

‘They are the best Christmas presents,’ Fitz says, ‘that I have ever had.’

He is looking at her as he says this, and Jemma knows that he is deadly serious. Out of everything she has ever had, Fitz and her children are certainly the most precious things in her life.

She reaches out to take his hand, but Fitz is quicker and is already bringing her fingers up to his lips to kiss them.

‘I love you,’ she whispers.

‘Love you too,’ he breathes. ‘So much.’

The children, however, had quickly lost interest in their parents and attention had been turned back to the smile piles of presents next to them.

Ollie turns his sock upside down and shakes it disappointingly.

‘It’s empty now,’ he announces. ‘Can we go downstairs?’

Jemma feels her stomach swoop and she glances over at her husband, raising one eyebrow in a silent question. Fitz gives her a barely noticeable nod and clears his throat.

‘Actually,’ he says, as Jemma reaches behind the bed, ‘there is one last present.’

‘Oooh!’ Hazel’s face lights up as she spots the small, squashy present Jemma has produced and she takes it from her eagerly. ‘Is it from Father Christmas?’

‘No, darling,’ Fitz says, sharing a secret smile with his wife. ‘This one is from Mummy and me.’

With her brothers crowding around her, picking at the sellotape, Hazel begins to unwrap the present. With Fitz holding her hand under the blankets, Jemma holds her breath.

‘Oh!’ Hazel pulls the present out of the paper and holds it up. ‘It’s a sock just like ours.’

‘Mmm.’ Fighting to keep the grin off her face, Jemma nods. ‘So it is. What might that mean, do you think?’

The twins look baffled, but behind them, realisation is dawning on Alfie’s face. His eyes move slowly from the sock, to his parents’ expectant faces and then, finally, to the slight bump of Jemma’s stomach, only noticeable if you were looking for it.

‘There’s…going to be another baby?’

‘ _Another_ baby?’ Oliie squeaks, his eyes widening as he whirls around.

Covering her mouth to stop herself from laughing, Jemma nods. ‘That’s right. In the summer you’re going to have a new baby brother or sister.’

‘I want a sister, please,’ Hazel says, crawling up to place her hand on her mother’s stomach gently.

Chuckling, Fitz catches her up in his arms and kisses her hair. ‘We’ll love it whether it’s a brother or a sister, though, won’t we guys?’

All the children nod enthusiastically, before scrambling off the bed and out the door, clamouring loudly about the prospect of a new baby sibling about the house.

Swinging her legs around the edge of the bed, Jemma stands up to follow them. Fitz joins her, wrapping his arms around her waist and folding her in close to kiss her. Smiling, Jemma allows the warmth of his lips to seep into her, making her entire body tingle.

‘Thank you,’ he murmurs against her. ‘For giving me the best Christmas presents in the world.’

Shaking her head, she chuckles softly. ‘Thank _you_ ,’ she adds, brushing her thumb against his cheekbone. ‘For helping me make them.’

The corners of Fitz’s eyes crease up with laughter as he bends down to kiss her again.

‘Merry Christmas, Jemma.’

‘Merry Christmas, Fitz.’

 

 


	27. 4x12 coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fs discussing becoming parents

 

 

It happens in their bunk, one night when Fitz has been out on a mission and is later than usual getting to bed.

Jemma is sitting up waiting for him, cross-legged on the bed in her pyjamas. They always said to each other not to wait, not to stay up when they were tired, but even as they said it they knew the other wouldn’t listen.

What was the point, Jemma thinks, in sharing a bed with somebody if you weren’t awake to smile at them before they went to sleep?

The doorknob squeaks, and she looks up just as Fitz pokes his head around the door. Seeing her, his features relax and he pushes the door further open to step inside.

‘I told you to go to sleep,’ he says, but there is no admonishment in his tone, only a thinly veiled gratitude.

‘I know,’ Jemma replies softly. She quickly scans his face and his shoulders, seeing the way he is pulling himself taunt. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah.’ The frown lines on his forehead vanish for a moment as he offers her a reassuring smile, evidently aware of her worry. ‘Yeah, I am.’

 _Now that I’m back with you_.

The unspoken words are loud in the moment between them and Jemma feels her own shoulders relax as she smiles back at him.

Fitz’s gaze flicks down to her lap and he raises one eyebrow.

‘What do you have there?’

Glancing downwards, Jemma looks at the collection of photographs and mementos she has gathered on the sheet around her. 

When he had first come out of his coma, Fitz’s mother had sent her a box full of pictures of his childhood and objects that would remind him of home. Looking back, Jemma realises now that they had both been terrified he wouldn’t be able to remember anything, even though they had never voiced that fear to each other. Luckily, that hadn’t happened, but even so, Fitz had taken a lot of comfort in having the photographs with him and kept the box in his bedside cabinet even now.

She gestures to them. ‘You left the box on the bed this morning and I wanted to have a look. It’s been ages since I last saw them…’

Fitz groans, and turns away to unbutton his shirt. ‘I don’t know why you like looking at them,’ he says, reaching for a t-shirt lying on the back of a chair. ‘They’re just pictures of me…’

‘Exactly!’ Jemma laughs, and makes a grab for another photograph. ‘That’s why I love them. Look, here’s one from your fifth birthday party, the one where you explained all the conjurer’s tricks before he did them. And here’s one from our graduation, and one of you and your mum hiking in the hills…I love them,’ she repeats, the smile returning to her face as she traces the shape of his five year old face with her finger. ‘I love them all.’

She can feel Fitz smile as he leans across the mattress to kiss the top of her head. As he pulls back, he tucks a loose strand of hair back behind her ear.

‘Next time we go to your parents,’ he says, sitting down on the end of the bed to unlace his shoes. ‘I’m making a box out of _your_ baby pictures.’

‘Impossible,’ Jemma murmurs, reaching back into the box. ‘I’m fairly certain I have hidden them all in a suitably secure location that you will never be able to find.’

‘So, they’re in the hollow tree at the bottom of the garden, then?’

She ignores him, and instead takes a small, knitted cap out of the box with a cry of delight. ‘Fitz! Look at this! Did your mum make it?’

He nods, his face softening as he reaches over to take it from her. ‘I wore it all through primary school, it just seemed to grow with me,’ he marvels, pulling the hat onto his head and turning to her. ‘See! Still fits!’

The sight of him standing with his arms outstretched and a baby’s white cap barely perched on his head makes Jemma laugh. She holds out a hand and he passes it back to her.

‘She’ll have to make us another one,’ she says, tucking the hat back in its box carefully, ‘when we have a baby.’

The words have left her lips before she realises what they are.

Fitz seems to have frozen into position, one hand on the dresser and the other reaching down to pull off his shoe. Jemma feels her heart thud as she watches him swallow and bring his foot back down to the ground.

‘Uh…’ Fitz sits down gingerly on the end of the bed. ‘Did you say when?’

‘Yes,’ Jemma whispers. She had meant to say _if_ , _if we have a baby_ , but somehow the _when_ had slipped out instead. ‘Yes, I suppose I did.’

He nods, and swallows again, the lump in his throat bobbing. ‘So…so, you want it to be a…to be a when?’

Jemma licks her lips. This conversation isn’t one they’ve ever had before, nor one that, she has to admit, she has ever given more than passing thoughts to. Even on Maveth, the possibility of starting a family with Fitz had felt so distant; it had been more an incentive to keep on living, to keep on _hoping_ , than a belief in anything that could one day be real. 

But now, sitting on the bed with him and the possibility out in the open between them, Jemma realises exactly what she wants.

‘Yes,’ she says a little breathlessly. ‘Yes, I do. I want it to be a when.’

Fitz’s expression is unreadable and Jemma feels her stomach tighten with doubt.

‘Do you…do you _not_ want it to be a when?’

‘No!’ His reply is instantaneous and hasty, and he half leans across the bed towards her, his eyes wide. ‘No, I do. I _really_ do. In fact…’ he shakes his head and a grin spreads across his face. ‘I don’t think I knew how much I wanted it until now.’

Jemma exhales with relief and reaches across the bed to take his hand. She squeezes his hand excitedly and feels Fitz press her fingers back, bringing her hand up to his lips to kiss the back of it. But behind the delight in his eyes there is something deeper, something apprehensive, and she can’t help but take notice of it.

‘Fitz? What else is there?’

‘Nothing.’ He shakes his head and tries to smile at her, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. ‘There’s nothing else.’

But at this point she knows him too well to believe him, and she knows him well enough to understand exactly where his hesitancy is coming from.

Nibbling at her bottom lip, Jemma pushes herself up onto her knees and shuffles across the bed towards him. Fitz anticipates exactly where she is going to go, and sits further back to allow her to clamber onto his lap, tucking her feet into his sides. His hands come up to hold her steady at her waist, but he can’t quite seem able to meet her eyes.

Taking his face between her hands, Jemma forces him to look up at her.

‘You,’ she says, her voice quietly fierce, ‘will be the greatest father to have ever existed.’

Fitz rolls his eyes, presumably to distract her from how his top lip is starting to quiver. ‘You’ve got an awful lot of faith in me.’

‘Fitz, I have never had anything _but_ faith in you!’ Sighing, Jemma tips her forehead forwards so that it is resting against his. ‘If you believe me in nothing else, believe me in this…I genuinely cannot think of a better man to be the father of my children.’

She feels him squeeze his eyes tightly shut, and uses one finger to brush away the tears leaking out from underneath his eyelashes.

‘I believe you,’ Fitz whispers. ‘Implicitly, and in everything. I just…’

‘I know,’ Jemma murmurs, turning her head sideways to kiss him on the temple. ‘I know.’

They stay like that for a few minutes, her lips against his skin and his hands resting on her waist. Then, with a deep breath, Jemma sits up.

‘I have three questions,’ she says.

Fitz frowns, and for a moment she thinks he might protest but then he shrugs, evidently deciding to humour her.

‘Okay. Hit me.’

‘Question number one: what colour would you paint the nursery?’

He looks even more confused than ever. ‘Jemma, what are you…’

‘The nursery, Fitz,’ Jemma repeats. ‘In a hypothetical scenario where we are having a baby, what colour would you paint the walls in their bedroom?’

Fitz opens his mouth and then closes it again. He appears to be seriously considering the question, a tiny crease appearing between his eyebrows.

‘Yellow,’ he decides eventually. ‘A pale yellow. Neutral, so it would work whether we had a girl or a boy, warm, gently stimulating, and that colour always reminds me of…’

‘The sunrise,’ Jemma finishes for him.

Fitz smiles genuinely this time, the light from the bedside lamp illuminating his face as he turns towards her. ‘Yeah.’

She is already nodding her agreement; in truth, when she asked the question she hadn’t known herself what colour she would want to paint her baby’s bedroom walls. But now having heard him say it, she cannot imagine them being anything other than the colour of the sunrise.

‘Second question,’ she continues, looping her arms around his neck. ‘Breastfed or bottle fed?’

This time, his answer comes almost instantaneously.

‘Whichever _you_ feel most comfortable doing.’

Jemma wants to kiss him for that, her heart quickening inside her chest, but she still has one final question to ask.

‘Last question,’ she says quietly. ‘Ready?’

Fitz nods, a sudden determination falling across his face. ‘Ready.’

‘How much,’ Jemma asks, ‘will you love them?’

The question seems to throw him far more than the other two, and he tilts his head back and closes his eyes before replying.

‘As much as I could love anything on this planet,’ he says, his voice coming out slightly hoarse, ‘or on any other.’

A strong wave of emotion rises in Jemma’s throat, and she feels tears start to prick at her own eyes as she takes his face in her hands once more. 

‘You see?’ She whispers, unable to stop her grin from spreading across her face as Fitz opens his eyes to look at her. ‘You see? It’s as easy as that.’

He lets out a laugh that sounds almost like a sob, and wraps his arms tighter around her waist and lifts his head up to catch her lips with his.

Jemma opens herself up to the kiss, noticing the way her heart leaps at the familiarity of his touch and the way the taste of his lips sent shivers running down her spine. Fitz kisses her again and again, tracing the shape of her mouth with them, and with each kiss he seems to be repeating a message to her: _thank you_ and _I love you_ , _thank you_ and _I love you_ , over and over until it starts to make her head spin.

Still holding her carefully to him, Fitz starts to fall backwards until he is lying flat on his back across the bed. Unwilling to break away from the kiss, he brings one hand up to cradle the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair as though he could tie them into one being.

With a soft gasp, Jemma pulls away to take a breath and opens her eyes just in time to see him staring up at her, his face radiating with the most absolute love she has ever seen.

‘I feel the exact same way, you know,’ he whispers, reaching up to brush her cheek with his fingertips. ‘There isn’t anyone in the world I’d want to be the mother of my children other than you.’

His words make Jemma’s heart feel like it has doubled in size and she bends forward to kiss him again.

‘How lucky are we then,’ she whispers against his lips, ‘that we are going to have everything that we want?’

‘Right now,’ Fitz murmurs, ‘I think I might be the luckiest man alive.’

And with that, he pulls her back down to meet him and Jemma happily allows her world to shrink to her and Fitz and the limitlessness of the possibilities in front of them.

 

 


	28. 4x12 coda part ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a follow up to chapter twenty seven, where jemma tells fitz she is pregnant.

 

 

The sound of gunshots up ahead, muffled by the rumble of the earth above them, means that when Jemma says his name Fitz almost misses it.

He glances back at her over his shoulder, just as she reaches out a hand towards him through the rising dust and darkness, her eyelids fluttering shut.

‘ _Jemma_!’

In his panic, his gun slips to the floor, and he lunges for her as she sways on her feet, catching her just before she collapses.

‘I’m fine,’ she mumbles to him, barely audible, but the weight of her in his arms and the paleness of her cheeks under her closes eyelashes does absolutely nothing to reassure Fitz that this is the truth. 

Peering down the tunnel in front of them and deciding that Nadir’s Watchdogs were far enough away from them to be an immediate threat, he shifts his arm further down her waist and lifts her up. With Jemma clinging to his neck, Fitz carries her to the tunnel wall and props her up carefully, still supporting her by the middle.

‘What happened?’ he asks, his blood still pounding in his ears. ‘What’s wrong?’

Jemma shakes her head, her hand twisting inside his own to squeeze his fingers. ‘Nothing, Fitz,’ she says, but she still hasn’t reopened her eyes. ‘I’m fine.’ 

With her free hand, she fumbles against the wall to try and push herself upright.

‘We can’t just stay here, we need to find the others…’

Gently but firmly, Fitz pushes her back.

‘You blacked out,’ he says, trying hard to keep his voice from trembling, ‘you blacked out, and now you can hardly stand up straight. No part of that makes you _fine_ in my book.’

Jemma opens her eyes, and Fitz sees that they are watering painfully. He is just about to ask her again what’s wrong when a blast from overhead makes the ground underneath their feet shake.

Ducking forward to protect her from the rubble falling from the ceiling, Fitz feels Jemma stagger again. This time, he isn’t stable enough on his own feet to catch her and they slide to the ground together.

Once the dust has settled, Fitz pulls back to look at her again. She is still white as a sheet but now seems to be able to hold her head up. It isn’t much, but it helps the tightness inside his chest loosen a little.

‘You weren’t well last night,’ he remembers, unzipping his backpack for his water bottle. He passes it to her, and she drinks gratefully. ‘I woke up and I could hear you in the bathroom and I meant to ask, but…’

But as soon as they’d got up, things had starting moving too quickly again and they’d been bundled onto the quinnjet and into this tunnel underneath the Watchdog’s base before he’d had the chance. Now, looking back, Fitz feels immeasurably guilty. He should have _found_ the chance.

Jemma shakes her head at him, brushing her hair back off her face.

‘I was ill last night, yes,’ she admits. ‘But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me, Fitz, truly. I’ve just been so worried about everyone and everything that I think that worry just took me over, I’m afraid.’

Fitz nods, and rubs at her shoulder before pressing a relieved kiss to her temple; it feels like a suitably logical explanation, and there have been several times in the past when he has watched Jemma’s nerves get the best of her health so he knows how plausible it is too. He is just feeling the last of his anxiety ebb away, as he begins mentally planning how best to shift the burden of responsibility from her shoulders, when Jemma suddenly gasps.

‘Unless…’

‘Unless?’  Fitz’s alarm spikes again, and he quickly turns her face towards him. ‘Jemma? Unless what?’

She looks up at him, her eyes wide and shining, and she opens her mouth as if to speak. But before she can, another blast shakes the tunnel walls and they hear the sound of voices fast approaching. 

Jemma closes her mouth and raises both eyebrows at him. Despite his burning curiosity, Fitz reluctantly nods his agreement to her message: _later_. For now, the world needs them to be SHIELD agents once more.

 

* * *

 

It is far later than Fitz would have liked by the time he is sitting on a stool in the lab, waiting for Jemma to bring her blood test results back from the med bay. He had practically begged to go with her, but she had refused, insisting instead on sitting him down with an ice pack pressed to his head, soothing the blow he had taken from one of Nadir’s henchmen.

Fitz shifts the pack further down his neck with a wince, and tries not to tap his foot against the stool in impatience. Jemma has been gone for ages, and he is just about to give in and go find her himself when she re-enters the lab, clutching a piece of paper in her hand.

Fitz feels his heart jump in his throat as he stands to meet her, throwing the ice pack onto the bench.

‘Hey. Are you…?’

There had been what had almost looked like a smile appearing on Jemma’s lips, but as she approaches him her face falls.

‘Oh, _Fitz_.’ She reaches up a hand and trails her fingers gently down his neck. Fitz knows that he must have one hell of a colourful bruise appearing there for her to be looking at him with such concern. ‘I didn’t realise he’d got you that bad.’

Before she can go any further, Fitz takes her hand in both of his and pulls it down to his chest. ‘Jemma,’ he says firmly. ‘Right now, I really don’t give a damn.’ He nods down to the piece of paper she is holding. ‘Is…is it what you thought it was?’

Blinking at the paper, as if she had almost forgot it was in her hand, Jemma takes a deep breath and nods. ‘Yes. Yes, it’s exactly what I thought it was.’

There is a slightly dazed look to her face, and Fitz isn’t sure whether that reassures him or not. Sitting alone in the lab, he had had plenty of time to think of what could be wrong with her and now he is desperate to know, if only so he can put some of his worst fears to bed.

Licking his lips, he holds her hand tight to his chest. ‘And are you…are you alright?’

Jemma exhales, and when she looks up at him, Fitz can see the broad smile spreading over her face.

‘Yes,’ she whispers. ‘I’m alright. In fact, I am _more_ than alright. Because…well, because I’m more than _me_.’

She flips her blood test results over to show him.

‘Look at the marker for hCG,’ she says quietly, pointing to it on the page.

Fitz looks, feeling his heart hammer against his rib cage. He might not have been a biologist, but even he knew what this level of hGC meant…

He sucks in a breath, his mouth suddenly very dry, and looks up at her. ‘You’re pregnant?’

Jemma nods, and her eyes are sparkling.

‘I am,’ she says, her grin reaching from ear to ear. ‘I really am.’

Just like his gun had in the tunnel that morning, her blood test results slip from Fitz fingers and flutter to the floor as he reaches for her. It takes him a single stride, and then her face is in his hands and he is kissing every inch of it that he can, starting on her forehead, and then her cheeks and nose, and finally her mouth.

‘I’ll be good,’ he mumbles against her lips. ‘I’m going to be _so good_ , Jemma, I promise you…’

And he means every single word of it. Standing in the middle of the lab, Fitz makes a silent vow to himself that from this moment on he is going to do everything he can to be the best father he can be.

Jemma had started laughing the moment he had started kissing her, and she is still laughing as she pulls his hands away from her face to look up at him.

‘I know!’ she says, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. ‘ _I know_ you will be, Fitz. It was me who told you that you would be all those weeks ago.’ She wrinkles up her nose. ‘Actually, speaking of that night, I’m fairly certain that was when…’

Fitz nods, his entire body still feeling utterly alight with happiness, and he steps forward to take her in his arms again, holding her close to him.

‘That makes sense,’ he murmurs to the top of her head. ‘In fact, that’s absolutely _perfect_ …’

‘Oh, really?’ Jemma twists in his arms, tilting her face up towards him. ‘How so?’

Fitz can only shake his head, the words to explain utterly escaping him. Of all the things Jemma had done for him over the years, convincing him that he would not only be a good father, but that he was the _only_ one she wanted for her children, had been one of the ones that had meant the most.

After all, it had been the one that had led them to this moment, right here, right now. And this moment was quite possibly the best one Fitz had ever lived in.

‘I love you,’ he says to her, and it is the simplest promise he has ever made her.

Jemma smiles, lifting her arms up to loop them around his neck. ‘And I,’ she whispers, ‘love you.’

She is so close that it takes Fitz barely any effort to tilt her chin back so that he can kiss her again. Jemma kisses him back, her lips still forming a smile that perfectly matches his own, as his free hand slips down her side to rest on her stomach, and on the first of their limitless possibilities inside.

 

 


	29. 4x12 coda part iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a continuation of chapters 27 and 28!

 

 

In retrospect, she should have taken the lift.

Jemma realises this when she is on the third flight of stairs up to the flat, and her feet are beginning to ache and the bags in her arms are starting to drag and, much to her dismay, she is feeling rather out of breath.

Pursing her lips together tightly, she eyes first the silver doors to the lift on her left and then glances upwards at the four flights of stairs she still has to climb. With a sigh, Jemma presses the up button of the lift and waits for the doors to slide open for her.

In fairness, she thinks to herself as the lift starts to carry her back home, she shouldn’t really feel guilty about it. After all, she was eight months pregnant.

When the lift lets her out on her floor, Jemma heaves her bags over to the front door and pushes it open.

‘Fitz?’ she calls hopefully through the flat, tossing her bags onto the sofa. ‘Are you here?’

She gets no answer, but she can hear a clattering coming from the spare room - _nursery_ , she corrects herself, feeling a slight thrill run down her spine - so, after peeling off her jacket and throwing it down with her bags, that is where she heads.

The door to the soon-to-be nursery is open a crack, and when Jemma pushes at it she is hit by a wave of paint fumes.

‘Fitz?’

‘Hey!’ He is bent over a cream tarpaulin sheet, wearing a paint splattered pinafore but as soon as he hears her voice he stands up, his face alight. ‘You’re home!’

‘I am,’ Jemma agrees, feeling something inside her leap as he hops over the sheets to her. He kisses her, lightly, on the cheek and she feels one of his hands move to rest on her belly. ‘But clearly you’ve been home for quite a while. What is all this…?’

She trails off, as she looks past him into their baby’s bedroom. There is a step-ladder in the corner, with a roller brush resting on top, and more tarpaulin covers the carpets. There are paint pots stacked together like a house of cards, and more paint brushes scattered around. As Jemma looks further into the room, she sees that the far wall where the window is has been painted a soft, light shade of yellow.

Fitz has been watching her as she takes it all in, and now, as she turns back to him in amazement, he smiles, which makes the smear of yellow paint on his nose crack.

‘I’m keeping my promise.’

All of a sudden, their conversation in their bunk from all those months ago floods back to Jemma and she feels tears prick in her eyes.

_What colour would you paint the nursery?  
_

_Yellow. A pale yellow. Neutral, so it would work whether we had a girl or a boy, warm, gently stimulating, and that colour always reminds me of…_

She shakes her head, her own lips stretching into a smile.

‘Fitz…that wasn’t a promise. It didn’t have to be.’

‘I know,’ he says with a shrug, and steps forward to take her hands in his. Lifting them to his lips, he kisses them. ‘I know it it didn’t. But I meant it as one, all the same.’

Looking up at the excitement in his eyes, Jemma suddenly feels overwhelmed with just how much she loves him.

‘I meant what I said, Jemma,’ Fitz repeats. ‘I meant every word.’

‘I know,’ she whispers, and reaches up a hand to cup his cheek. ‘I know you did.’

Lifting herself carefully up onto her tiptoes, she brings her lips to his. The kiss is slow and gentle, reminding them both that they have all the time in the world for kisses like these now, that there is no rush. They will have the rest of their lives to kiss each other like this, like they are everything to matter in the world.

Inside her stomach, their baby kicks and it makes Jemma gasp, wobbling on her feet. Instantly, Fitz’s hands move to steady her, holding her gently as he eases her back down to the balls of her feet. He kisses her one final time before pulling away and grinning, as though there is something he knows that she doesn’t.

Jemma narrows her eyes at him. ‘What? What is it?’

‘Nothing.’ Fitz reaches up and pats the smudge of paint on his nose. ‘Only, I think you might have a little…’

Mirroring him, she reaches up and dabs at her own nose. It is wet, and when she pulls her fingers away they are yellow.

Jemma groans. ‘Oh, _Fitz_ …’

He laughs, bending forward with a cloth to wipe the pant blob off for her. ‘The least you could do is tell me whether you like the colour.’

She catches his wrist with her hand, forcing him to look at her. Smiling, she kisses him again, the corner of her thumb just brushing his own smudge.

‘I love it,’ she murmurs. ‘It’s perfect. It’s just like the sunrise.’

Fitz kisses her back, his lips warm and welcoming and tasting of home.

‘If you keep distracting me like this,’ he warns, ‘I’m not going to get it done before the baby’s born.’

Jemma laughs out loud. ‘Find me a spare pinafore then,’ she says, pushing him away from her. ‘Four hands will be faster than two.’

 

* * *

 

Less than a fortnight later, Jemma finds herself back in the nursery, curled up on the child-sized bed in the corner of the room with her newborn daughter fast asleep on her chest.

Sunny yawns, a tiny, mewling sound that makes Jemma’s heart flip over and she has to resist the urge to bob down and kiss the tiny head of hair resting just underneath her chin, something that she has been wanting to do almost every minute since she was born.

The sound of the door creaking makes her jump, and she looks up from her daughter just in time to see Fitz make his way into the room, creeping forward on his tip toes.

‘Hi,’ he breathes, as though he thinks speaking too loud might shatter the moment. ‘Is she asleep?’

Jemma nods, beckoning him forwards. ‘Out like a light,’ she says, as Fitz crosses the room towards them. ‘She’s brilliant at sleeping.’

‘She’s brilliant at everything,’ he mumbles. ‘Or at least, she will be.’

Jemma smiles before carefully sliding forward on the bed so that Fitz can slip in behind her. Cradling Sunny to her, she leans back until she is resting against his chest, feeling his arms come up around them to hold them safe.

Fitz’s fingers ruffle his daughter’s hair, touching the thin wisps on top of her head as though they are made of spun gold.

‘It was a good thing you helped me out with the room in the end,’ he says. ‘I’d have never got it finished in time without you.’

Laughing softly, Jemma twists her head to press a kiss to his neck. ‘I don’t know whether you can call what I did _helping,_ exactly. I painted half a wall and then had to sit down for an hour with my feet up.’

Fitz hums in agreement. ‘True.’ But when she swats him lightly on the arm, he quickly changes his tune. ‘But of course, you did some excellent direction from that chair. Valuable direction. _Essential_ direction, even.’

‘Nice save,’ Jemma murmurs, rubbing Sunny’s back.

He smiles, kissing the top of her head.

‘You’re right though,’ she continues. ‘It was just as well we painted when we did. Seeing how this little one was so eager to enter the world she decided to come three weeks early…’

‘She just wanted to meet us,’ Fitz says, bending his head to whisper by Sunny’s ear. ‘Didn’t you, little darling? You couldn’t wait to meet Mummy and Daddy.’

Those two words, the newest of their identities to be added to partner, SHIELD agent, best friend and love of someone’s life, sounds so wonderful to Jemma’s ears that she has to stretch up to kiss him properly. Fitz’s lips meet hers eagerly, and he uses one hand to trace her jawline, his fingers tangling in her hair.

‘We’ll have to show her the world,’ Jemma whispers. ‘Every single part of it. Everything she learns from now on…we have to teach her.’

‘And we will,’ Fitz reassures her. ‘We can do it. It’s just our new adventure, one that we’re going to do together.’

‘Together.’

Jemma repeats the word, that magic word between them that is both a love song and a promise in the same breath, with a smile and brings up her hand to cover Sunny’s head. It fits in the middle of her palm, the centre of her known universe.

Fitz’s hand comes up to cover her own, an acceptance of the unspoken vow between them - that no matter what happens, just like everything else they have done so far, they will get through this like they always do. Hand in hand, and together.

‘I love you both,’ he mumbles, rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. 

Smiling, Jemma turns her head to look up at him. ‘And we,’ she says, ‘love you. As much as we could love anything on this planet or on any other.’

The look on Fitz’s face makes her think he has never felt more loved than he has in this moment.

He kisses her sleepily once more, and she settles back against his chest. Jemma listens, feeling Fitz’s heartbeat thud against her back and Sunny’s tiny heart pulse against her front, and falls asleep to the sound of the rest of her life.

 

 


	30. things you said with the tv on mute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fs and things you said with the tv on mute

 

 

‘All I’m saying, Simmons, is that I can’t see the point in watching a film without the sound on.’

And what I’m trying to tell _you_ , Fitz, once you let me get a word in edgeways, is that I’ll put the subtitles on instead. You can read, can’t you?’

‘ _Yes_ , but that’s not the _point_ …’

With a sigh, Jemma turns around to face him, the large bowl of popcorn balanced on her hip like a washing basket. Curled up on her narrow dorm bed with a blanket pulled up to his chin and his hair sticking up in soft tufts, her best friend looks unusually adorable. 

‘Fitz, do you want to watch _Prisoner of Azkaban_ on my television or don’t you?’

His shoulders slump reluctantly. ‘Ye-es…’

‘Good.’ Jemma flicks a couple of kernels of popcorn at him. ‘In which case, shut up about it being on mute. Unless you want Melissa from next door ratting you out to Weaver about being in the girl’s dorms at night.’

At this, Fitz falls mercifully silent and she has to hide a smirk at how effective the threat of Agent Weaver finding him in her room is. Jemma isn’t sure he has quite gotten over the last time that had happened. He still goes red whenever she passes them in the corridor.

She nudges his knee on her bed. ‘Move over.’

He budges obediently, shifting across the mattress until he is pressed against the wall, leaving space for her to clamber in next to him. Jemma passes him the bowl of popcorn as she gets comfortable, wiggling her toes down under the duvet and reaching over to tug the blanket he is holding over to cover her knees.

‘Oi,’ Fitz objects, hugging the popcorn bowl to his chest. ‘Blanket hog.’

‘Popcorn hog,’ Jemma retorts, digging her hand into the bowl to take a handful before reaching for the remote control. 

She plays the film and feels Fitz’s arm settle along the headrest of the bed behind her, a perfectly placed cushion for her to rest her head.

They had been to see the film when it had first come out in the cinemas with a group from their chemistry lab, taking the SHIELD academy bus down to the nearest town for the afternoon. It had easily been their favourite of the films so far, even though they had spent the entirety of the bus trip back discussing the changes from the book over Jemma’s dog-eared, much loved copy.

(‘Ron,’ Fitz had said fiercely, ‘would never let Snape get away with saying that about Hermione.’

‘And really,’ Jemma had added, ‘they ought to have let him keep his line in the Shrieking Shack. It makes so much more _sense_.’)

Although she would never admit it to him, as the film continues to play, Jemma starts to agree with Fitz. It _is_ different watching it silently, having to concentrate on the subtitles as well as watching the action. She finds herself repeatedly staring at the actors lips for a time, expecting to hear words come out, and then getting distracted by her laundry basket, her stack of homework, the sound of Fitz’s heartbeat replacing the film soundtrack in her head…

‘It’s just,’ he says suddenly, making her jump, ‘that it’s not the same, you know? I know that I can read the subtitles, but I read them in my voice. And somehow McGonagall’s speeches don’t sound quite as good when it’s me saying them.’

‘You know what Maggie Smith sounds like,’ Jemma murmurs, burrowing deeper into his chest. ‘Just imagine how she would say it.’

‘That’s what I’m trying to do, but…’

‘Fitz, _shh_.’

‘Why? It’s not like you won’t be able to _hear_ it…’

Twisting her head to look up at him, Jemma narrows her eyes and nods towards the wall. ‘Melissa. Remember?’

She watches Fitz’s throat bob. ‘Oh. Yeah. Sorry.’

He mimes zipping his lips and lets his arm on the headrest fall so that it is around her waist instead, a silent apology. It is one that Jemma rather likes, the warmth of his fingers brushing the cotton of her t-shirt, and she leans back into him.

‘We can watch it again over the summer,’ she murmurs, patting his knee reassuringly. ‘ _With_ the sound on this time.’

‘Good.’ Fitz lets his head fall until his cheek is resting against her hair. ‘Do you want to go to my house or yours this time?’

Jemma considers. They had spent the Christmas break with his mum up in Scotland and she knew her parents were itching for her to go home soon, but she was already starting to miss Glasgow.

‘Your television set is bigger,’ Fitz points out.

‘That’s true. But your house has your mum and her cooking.’

‘Also very true.’ He sighs, and as his chest rises Jemma does too. ‘We could split the time? Spend half of it with mum and half with your parents?’

She nods. ‘Sounds perfect.’

After a few moments, during which they both stare blankly at the mute television as the golden trio trek across the snow, she speaks again.

‘And maybe…maybe one day we’ll have our own place to go to during the summer? Just you and me, together?’

Jemma holds her breath, not daring to look up at Fitz as he processes this. 

It is only in recent months that she has come to understand this as something that she wants, even if she is not quite sure why. Her best friend is a slob, utterly incapable of folding his clothes and can sometimes be the most frustrating person she has ever met. 

And yet for some reason, she can’t imagine living the rest of her life without him.

She feels Fitz swallow. ‘Is that…is that what you want?’

‘Yes,’ Jemma whispers, her heart hammering with hope. ‘It is.’

‘That’s lucky then,’ he says. ‘Seeing as it’s what I want too.’

She isn’t quite sure how it happens, but somehow, as she turns her head to look up at him and sees the way his eyes are filled with something soft and gentle and utterly irresistible; as his head starts to drop towards hers and her lips begin to part in anticipation; as her eyes drift shut as his forehead meets hers, Jemma finds herself kissing her best friend.

Fitz is warm, as his lips fall over hers, but, really, she had known this already. It only reaffirms her understanding to kiss him, and feel the warmth of his hands on her waist, and his mouth against hers and his heart, beating faster and faster underneath her touch, as her hand comes up to grip at the hem of his t-shirt.

He tips her head back to deepen the kiss, and Jemma feels her insides twist with desire. All of a sudden, she realises that she wants to be much closer to him, and pushes herself up on the bed to climb onto his lap. Fitz seems to understand what she is doing, and guides her across his legs so that she is straddling him, somehow managing not to break their kiss.

A deep thrill runs down Jemma’s spine as her lips continue to trace Fitz’s, mapping out all the curves and crevices they can find. He is kissing her back just as eagerly, his hands moving gracefully across her body, making her feel dizzy and her head spin with how much she likes it.

A short, sharp knock to the wall from the room next-door makes them both jump, and Fitz manages to let out a startled squeak before Jemma clamps her hand quickly over his mouth.

‘Looks like,’ she says softly, feeling herself start to smile, ‘we’re going to have to figure out a way to do _this_ without disturbing Melissa too.’

Slowly, she watches Fitz’s eyes light up with the challenge and, as she takes her hand away from his mouth, he swiftly flips them over until she is lying flat on her back on the bed and he is leaning over her.

‘If that was a challenge, Dr. Simmons,’ he murmurs, ‘I accept.’

And he bends his head to kiss her again.

 

 


	31. things you said that made me feel real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons and things you said that made me feel real

 

 

Rubbing at his temples with his fingertips, Fitz sighs and presses the intercom button on his desk.

‘Two paracetamol, please,’ he requests, ‘and a glass of water.’ After a moment, he presses the button again and adds: ‘ice cold.’

When he looks up, the woman sitting across the desk from him has one eyebrow raised and her arms crossed over her chest as she tries not to smile.

‘ _Ice cold_ , Fitz?’ she says in bemusement, and the familiarity with which she says his name unnerves him slightly. ‘Really?’

He can’t help but scowl at her. ‘What, do you think it’s funny how a man likes his water?’

‘No,’ she replies, ‘but I _do_ think it’s funny how much you’re enjoying being someone with a secretary who, when you say jump, she asks how high.’

Fitz opens his mouth again, itching to argue with her, but then the office door opens and Carol walks in, a glass of water so cold the glass has frosted and two glossy pills balanced on a chrome tray. He waits until she has put the tray down in front of him and left before glancing across at the woman again. 

She is watching with a slight smirk on her face, as if she is saving up all she can see for some excellent teasing material at a later day, and, not for the first time since he had discovered her waiting outside his office this morning, Fitz feels like he has seen this look before.

He pops the pills in his mouth and drinks to stop him from having to think too hard about this. When he puts the glass back down, the woman is still watching him, but there is a sadness in her eyes now, replacing her momentary amusement.

‘You don’t believe me,’ she says softly, ‘do you?’

Fitz bites at his bottom lip and sighs again.

When he had first met her this morning, when she had introduced herself to him as Dr. Simmons, he had thought she was there to pitch him an idea. As it turned out, she had been, just not the kind of idea he was used to.

She told him that the world he had lived his whole life in wasn’t real, that he wasn’t real, that he was just a figment of an alternative framework reality created by an artificial intelligence and a book of magic spells, and that his real body, along with hers, was asleep in the real world until he was able to wake up.

On its own, the tale would have sounded dubious, but Fitz gets the sense that even this isn’t the full story. As Dr. Simmons describes how his real self was substituted with a life model decoy, her face pales and her voice starts to shake, however much she seems to be trying not to let it. He wonders what it is that she’s hiding from him.

‘You have to admit,’ he says, it’s a pretty unbelievable theory.’

She purses her lips and nods. ‘I know it is.’

‘LMDs? Really? What, do robot apocalypse movies not exist in your world? Who would be _stupid_ enough to provide a mad scientist with the technology needed to bring one of those to life?’

Dr. Simmons flinches, as though he has hit her.

‘ _Not_ stupid,’ she says fiercely. ‘They weren’t stupid. They just…’ Her shoulders slump. ‘They just _loved_ , that’s all.’

‘Maybe a little _too_ much by the sound of it,’ Fitz mutters, not quite enough under his breath for her not to hear. She looks away, but not before he sees the tears brimming in her eyes, and wonders again what she is choosing not to tell him.

‘So,’ Dr. Simmons repeats after a moment’s pause. ‘You don’t believe me.’

Fitz shakes his head. ‘No.’

‘And,’ she continues, the sadness in her voice making his insides want to ache. ‘You don’t remember me either.’

He wants to tell her yes. For one instant, for one beat of his heart, Fitz wants to tell her yes, if only to relieve the pain he can see behind her eyes. But if he did that then he would be lying, and something tells him that lying to Dr. Simmons would be even crueller than the truth he has to give her.

‘No,’ he admits. ‘I’m sorry.’

He thinks she will start to cry, but she surprises him by nodding, taking a deep breath and offering him a tiny smile.

‘Don’t be,’ she says, getting to her feet and brushing her hand underneath her eyes. ‘You will remember. Soon, I hope.’

Fitz shakes his head as she moves to the door, turning his chair to follow her as she goes. ‘You’re so sure of that,’ he says. ‘You’re so sure of _me_. Why?’

She smiles at him again, and there is something so much deeper behind it. 

‘Because of something you once told me,’ she says. ‘That everything in the universe, every part of us, no matter how much we change, we belong somewhere. Our natural state. Our home.’ She says the word _home_ the same way she says his name, softening the syllables in her mouth. ‘You’ll find your way home, Fitz. You have to.’

And then she is gone, leaving a note with an address and a time on his desk, and she has been gone for several minutes before Fitz manages to speak.

‘But,’ he says to an empty room, ‘I _am_ home.’

* * *

_I am home_.

His own words echo about him for hours, dancing over Dr. Simmons’ words as they repeat, over and over, inside his head.

The sandwich and cup of tea Carol brings him at lunchtime remains untouched as he stays sitting at his desk, his head dropped into his hands.

 _Home_.

Fitz mouths the word silently, trying to establish a fixed picture of it in his mind. He sees a house in Glasgow, his parents making strained, tense conversation at the table and his mother folding her arms around him. He sees the streets of New York, and the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment with his office immediately below, welcoming him home after a long day of sitting on his own.

But, slowly, the pictures start to shift, to ones he can’t quite understand. He sees a dorm room, cramped and cold, with a dark head of hair bent over a text book on the floor. He sees another apartment, far smaller, with the smell of lavender in the bathroom, and a collection of photographs pined to the wall of a bunk in what he thinks might be an aeroplane. He can’t make out the faces in the photographs, but he knows exactly what they mean.

He sees a bedroom that he knows to be underground, with a double bed and white sheets, and as he lies in the bed he knows that there is someone next to him, someone who makes him feel safe, someone who makes him feel brave. When he reaches out, he touches dark hair, and a bare shoulder with a smattering of freckles, and as she rolls towards him with a lazy smile and warm amber eyes, he _knows_ her, he knows that she is-

The realisation hits Fitz so hard that he falls over, hitting the floor with a gasp.

For a moment, he can only sit perfectly still, trying to remember how to breathe as it all floods back to him, the memories of what he had lost, of what he had yet to find. It is too much, he thinks, and yet it is not nearly enough.

Finally, he manages to stand on wobbly legs and move back to his desk, snatching up the note she had left him and clutching it as though it were a life line.

 _Home_ , Fitz thinks again, as he leaves the office taking the steps two at a time, and then, _Jemma_.

* * *

The address she had left him is a street downtown, a place he would never have been caught dead in before but now he doesn’t care.

As he rounds the corner, Fitz sees a group of people standing together, seemingly trying to figure something out. He knows them, knows every one of them and later he knows he will be berating himself for forgetting them. But before he does that, there is something far more important that he needs to do.

She is standing in the middle of them all with a look of grim determination on her face that vanishes when she looks up to see him walking towards them.

There must be something about him, something she can see in his eyes that tells her he has remembered, because with one look she knows. She breaks away from the group and starts to run towards him; with a strangled sob, Fitz does the same.

They collide in the middle of the street, her arms flinging around his neck, his grabbing her by the waist to lift her clear off her feet. He spins them around and around before staggering to a stop, pausing long enough for Jemma to pull her face back from his neck to look at him. She holds his face in her hands for a single moment, her cheeks wet and her eyes alight, before kissing him, all her joy overflowing into him.

That kiss, along with the heat of her hands on his neck, the press of her body in his arms and the mild ache in the small of his back from holding her up for so long, is the most real thing Fitz has ever known.

He can hear the faint sound of applause from their team mates as they pull apart, which he chooses to ignore, focusing instead on Jemma as she lifts her head up to grin at him.

‘What?’ she says, a little breathlessly. ‘No smart remark about how the bloody cosmos wants us to be apart?’

Fitz can only laugh as he lets her slide back down to the ground, her arms still locked around his neck.

‘Who cares about the cosmos?’ he says, dropping his forehead to rest it against hers. ‘I know I’ve always got you to lead me home again.’

 

 


	32. things you said when you were drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons and things you said when you were drunk

 

 

There were times when Jemma Simmons wished that her best friend didn’t have quite so perfect a memory, and tonight was one of them.

‘Do you want me to remind you what you said that night? Do you?’

‘Urgh.’ She pulls a face as she follows Fitz into his living room from the bedroom. ‘Not particularly.’

But Fitz is already in the kitchen, clattering plates about and opening cupboards, and if he hears her then he pays her no heed.

‘ _Oh, Fitz_ ,’ he calls over his shoulder in a god-awful impression of her accent, ‘ _keep going. Whatever you do, don’t stop. Not even for a condom…_ ’

Jemma rolls her eyes and falls backwards onto the sofa. Kicking her feet up to rest on the cushions, her hands skim the slow growing bump of her belly.

‘I might have been quite drunk that night,’ she admits. ‘But I was sober enough to know that I never said _that_.’

‘Yeah, well…’ Fitz pops his head around the kitchen door. ‘Maybe I’m not remembering exactly right, but you might as well have said that. By the way, was it peanut butter or chocolate spread that you wanted on your rice cakes?’

‘Both,’ Jemma reminds him, and he nods before diving back into the kitchen. She stretches her legs out, trying to relieve the ache in her back. ‘But really, Fitz, don’t try to pin this all on me! You were _just_ as bad, practically trying to get my bra undone before I had even taken my dress off.’

Coming back into the room, a plate of rice cakes in one hand and a packet of chocolate digestives in the other, Fitz grins at the memory.

‘The next time you decide to wear a red dress, Simmons,’ he tells her as he hands her the plate and flops onto the sofa beside her, ‘maybe do the rest of us a favour and wear a health warning with it too, yeah?’

To hide her smile, Jemma takes a large bite out of a rice cake.

The night in question had been some six months ago, at a party held by Daisy, one of their old friends from university. It had been a large party, full of people neither of them knew very well, and so they had stuck to one another’s side all evening. Not that either of them had minded that, of course. Ever since the first day they had met ten years ago, the person they most wanted to be with was each other.

Admittedly, they had both drunk rather a lot that night, placing themselves rather conveniently next to the drinks table. As the hours passed on and their conversation dwindled to a comfortable silence, they had found themselves moving closer and closer to each other until Jemma could feel the heat of Fitz’s breath on her neck. When she kissed him, it had felt like igniting a spark.

They had barely made it to an upstairs bedroom before he was pushing her up against the closed door to kiss her fervently, and she was reaching out to unbutton his shirt. As she had lain on top of him on the bed, her hands roaming every inch of him that she wanted to touch, it had felt to Jemma like the most right thing in the world.

In the weeks following the party, they had both unintentionally avoided each other, and on the occasions when they did meet they had expertly side-stepped the inevitable conversation they needed to have.

Of course, when the pregnancy test turned positive, they hadn’t been able to avoid it any longer.

On the sofa, Jemma eyes Fitz’s packet of digestives hungrily as he munches on one.

‘I don’t suppose…’ she begins.

Before she has even finished the sentence, he is holding the packet out to her. Gratefully, Jemma takes two and sandwiches her rice cake between the two of them. When she takes a bite, the peanut butter and chocolate spread ooze over the sides, dripping onto her lips.

She licks them with a sligh moan and looks up to see Fitz watching her wistfully.

‘Could I…’

With a smile, she offers him the last rice cake from the plate she has balanced on her belly. He takes it from her and does the same as she had done, placing the cake between two digestives.

‘Jemma,’ he says after taking a bite. ‘I think you’ve just created a culinary classic.’

She laughs out loud, watching him fondly as he finishes his sandwich. Once he has licked his fingers clean, he shuffles across the sofa to pull her into him. Jemma eases into his touch, enjoying the way his arms encircle her and his chin rests on the top of her head. It might only have been a week since they had finally admitted their true feelings to each other, but already everything felt so natural.

It had been Fitz’s idea that she move in with him once they realised she was pregnant, claiming that it would make things a lot easier. He had been right about that in some respects - it was certainly easier to make it to doctor’s appointments and baby classes together - but it hadn’t made talking about their feelings any easier.

In fact, it had been almost six long months of sexual tension, wayward hormones and almost unbearably tender care before Jemma had finally snapped. She had kissed him against the fridge door as he tried to blend bananas into a smoothie for her and, when he had kissed her back, she had known without a doubt that he felt the exact same way as she did.

‘I don’t mind doing this, you know,’ Fitz mumbles into her hair.

She takes his palm in her hand and kisses it. ‘Don’t mind what?’

‘Getting up in the middle of the night to make you whatever it is you’re craving. I know I might moan about it, but I want you to know that I don’t mean it. There’s nothing I would rather be doing than eating rice cakes at 2am with you.’

Jemma twists her head up to look at him and smiles. ‘I know,’ she whispers and pats his cheek. ‘Me too.’

Fitz returns the smile and bobs down to kiss her on the nose. His lips linger there for a moment, before moving down to kiss her properly. Jemma pushes the empty plate off her belly as he continues to kiss her, allowing his hands to push her pyjama top up, exposing her stomach.

As Fitz’s head drops to plant a string of kisses across her bump, she sighs at the pleasantness of the sensation.

‘You remember what I said that night,’ she says, with a little gasp as his lips hit a particularly receptive patch of skin. With her heart pounding, Jemma twines her fingers through his. ‘But do you remember what _you_ said?’ 

Fitz looks up at her, his eyes dark. ‘Yeah,’ he whispers. ‘Yeah, I remember.’

Jemma nods, swallowing hard. ‘And did you…did you mean it?’

‘Yes,’ is his reply, and she has to wonder how one word can sound so definite and yet so soft at the same time. ‘Yes, I did.’

She exhales, feeling something light up inside her as she pulls him close to kiss him again.

‘Good,’ Jemma mumbles against Fitz’s lips, and she repeats the words he had whispered into her ear that night six months ago: ‘I love you too.’

 

 


	33. things you said in your sleep, actor/director au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitzsimmons and things you said in your sleep, takes place in the actor/director au started in chapter eight!

 

 

‘And you’re sure,’ Fitz asks from behind her, ‘that’s what I was saying?’

With a sigh, Jemma picks up her plate with a blueberry muffin on it and reaches for a steaming mug of tea. ‘Fitz, I’m positive. I know this film’s script like I know the back of my hand.’

She hears him groan, and turns back just in time to watch him drop him own plate back onto the catering counter with a clatter and bury his head in his hands.

‘God, that’s embarrassing.’

Shaking her head, Jemma looks at him sympathetically and tongs two croissants onto his plate for him. ‘Of course it isn’t. You’re an actor, Fitz, and you’re a good one. Reciting your lines in your sleep is nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘It’s not just that,’ he says, taking his plate from her and adding three miniature pots of jam to it. 

Turning away from her, he makes his way over to an empty table next to the caterer’s van and sits down heavily on a bench. Jemma follows him, and sits opposite.

‘Then what is it?’ she asks softly.

Fitz bites down on his bottom lip and rips the corner off a croissant.

‘ _Fitz_ …’

‘I’m nervous, alright?’ he admits, and when he looks up at her Jemma can see the true apprehension in his eyes. ‘I haven’t been nervous for any scene in this film so far, and yet when I think about what I have to do today…’ He sighs, and tosses his croissant back onto the plate.

Watching him, Jemma feels her heart twist inside her chest and she reaches across the table to take his hand in hers.

‘It’s just a scene,’ she says comfortingly, ‘just like any other.’

Fitz snorts. ‘Yeah, except I have to confess to the love of my life my true feelings to her and then almost die in her arms.’

‘Your character has to do that,’ Jemma reminds him. ‘Not you.’

He looks up at her and she knows that they are both thinking the same thing: that, although he might just be acting the part today, it has only been three weeks since he’d made his confession to her for real.

Remembering how she had felt that night, Jemma squeezes his hand. ‘You’re going to nail it today,’ she says. ‘I know you are.’

Fitz’s mouth quirks upwards as he tries to offer her a smile, but his eyes are still clouded and his fingers not twined with hers are rapping continually on the wood of the table.

Noticing this, Jemma quickly looks up and scans the studio: it is still early; she and Fitz have taken to leaving their newly shared hotel room long before the rest of the crew to enjoy the walk to the set together. While neither of them were against their friends finding out that they were a couple, they were both enjoying the delicious secrecy of slipping into prop cupboards to kiss when no one else was looking.

The set is still empty, and so Jemma takes the chance to get up from her seat and walk around the other side of the table. Trailing one hand down Fitz’s cheek, she sits down in his lap, winding her arms around his neck. He seems to appreciate the physical contact, turning his head into her arm, his hair nuzzling the soft skin there.

‘Bobbi wrote this scene with you in mind, remember,’ she says to him. ‘She believes that you can do it, and…’ dropping her forehead down so that it rests against his, ‘so do I.’

Fitz looks up at her properly and gives her a wry grin.

‘Do you really?’

Jemma laughs out loud, cupping his face in her hands. ‘What sort of director would I be if I didn’t have absolute faith in my actors?’ she teases. ‘Yes, _of course_ I believe in you, Fitz. I always have and I always will.’

She kisses him, lightly, on the lips, feeling his arms tighten on her waist as he pulls her closer to him to kiss her back. Pressing her hands to his cheeks, Jemma hopes that some of her deep-rooted faith will manage to make its way into him.

It is a little while before Fitz pulls back, letting his nose rub against hers momentarily with a smile.

‘What would I do without you?’ he asks.

Jemma returns the smile, before pretending to consider.

‘Hmm, still be a hugely successful actor with a supportive fan base and endless prospects?’

Fitz tilts his head to one side and nods. ‘Yeah, that sounds about right.’

She rolls her eyes, and is about to open her mouth again when Fitz’s lips find hers once more, silencing her protests with a kiss. The warmth of his lips, combined with the way her heart goes _thump_ at his touch, is enough to make every part of Jemma melt.

‘But,’ he murmurs, once they have pulled apart again, ‘I’d never want to do any of it if I didn’t have you.’

She grins, giving him a quick peck to the cheek before reaching behind her for his croissant. She pops it into his open mouth, wiping a smear of strawberry jam from his lips as she does so.

‘And I,’ she whispers, ‘you.’

Fitz grins back at her, before pulling her muffin across the table so she can finish her breakfast without leaving his lap. They continue eating together, their mouthfuls penetrated by kisses, until Fitz’s plate is empty and Jemma is satisfied that the ease in his eyes is genuine.

Once she has used her finger to collect up the last of her muffin crumbs, she clasps her hands around his neck and looks at him.

‘Do you have a copy of your script with you?’

Fitz looks at her strangely before letting go of her waist with one hand to reach into his backpack.

‘Ye-es,’ he says a little uncertainly, digging his script out of the bag and waving it at her. ‘Why do you ask?’

Wiggling her eyebrows at him, Jemma hops off his lap and takes the script from his hand.

‘Because I am approximating that we still have at least half an hour before everyone else arrives at the studio, which means that you and I have that time to go on set and run through your lines and get your staging right before they all arrive.’

She holds out her hand to him and Fitz takes it, allowing her to pull him to his feet.

‘And why are we doing that?’

‘Because,’ Jemma smiles at him and swings his hand in hers, ‘I might have complete faith in you, but I would also quite like it if you had some faith in yourself.

Fitz’s features relax, his eyes softening, and he inclines his head towards her. Jemma waits until his lips are mere millimetres from hers before adding:

 ‘Plus, I’d really like to get a full night’s sleep tonight without hearing you narrate the entire film in your sleep.’

She waits until he has stopped laughing before reaching up to bring him down to kiss her.

 

 


	34. things you said with my lips on your neck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fs + things you said with my lips on your neck

 

 

They start off in separate beds, but of course that was never going to last for long.

The medical wing on the Zephyr is small, with only three beds, and it is on one of these that Fitz sits, with his hands folded in his lap, next to the one Jemma is lying in. She is fast asleep but he can’t bring himself to take his eyes off of her.

Piper has inserted an IV of antibiotics into her right arm to combat the infection she is fighting in her leg, but that is doing nothing to heal the gash he can see on her temple, the blood still streaked in her hair looking practically black in the dim light of the room.

Remembering the vague and reluctant way Daisy had admitted to him how Jemma had got her injuries, Fitz feels his stomach turn and his head, still slightly groggy after emerging from the life he had lived in the framework, spins.

Exhaling slowly through his nose, he lies down and turns on his side to wait.

It is a couple of hours before Jemma starts to stir, her forehead creasing and a small whine coming from her throat. As if she knows he is there, her head turns towards him on the pillow and when she opens her eyes Fitz feels like he is the only thing she can see.

She opens her mouth, as though she is about to speak, and pushes back the blanket covering her to get out of the bed but the IV in her arm pulls her backwards, and as soon as her right leg hits the floor it crumples underneath her.

Despite how sluggish his limbs still feel, Fitz finds himself instinctively surging towards her and he manages to catch her in his arms before she can fall to the ground.

Jemma gives a slight gasp as he does so, and he quickly readjusts himself so he is holding her more gently, afraid that he has somehow hurt her, but after a split second she presses even further into him, her arms tight around his middle and her face buried in his neck.

As he breathes in, the smell of her familiar shampoo makes tears prick at Fitz’s eyes.

‘I’ve got you,’ he murmurs to her, his thumb rubbing in small, comforting circles on her back. ‘I’ve got you.’

He doesn’t really want to let her go, but when Jemma starts to shake in his arms Fitz realises he needs to get her back on the bed. He guides her gently back onto the mattress, making sure her IV is still attached and that the dressings on her leg are secure. 

He is about to pull away and return to his own bed when he feels her hands twisting in the material of his shirt almost urgently. With a lump in his throat, he allows her to pull him onto her bed next to her, where he had wanted to be all along.

‘I wasn’t sure,’ he says by way of explanation, ‘whether I should be…I didn’t know if you’d want me…’

He trails off when he sees Jemma shake her head, and even though her eyes have closed again he sees the tears shining from underneath her eyelashes.

‘I do.’

Sniffing hard to hold back his own tears, Fitz carefully shifts himself on the bed so that he can fold her into his arms once more. She fits there so easily, so effortlessly, that it makes his heart ache to think that a world could have existed where they didn’t have each other.

It makes his heart _ache_ to think that he had assisted in making that world, and all the ways it had hurt her, possible.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispers, and Jemma’s eyes immediately flicker back open.

‘Don’t be,’ she says, and when she reaches one hand up to touch his cheek Fitz notices how much effort it is taking her. ‘You don’t have to be. Not to me.’

As she moves, the shadows fall from her neck and he can see the string of bruises on her skin, red and purple and made by somebody who looked just like him.

Fitz tries to conceal his sob as he shakes his head. ‘Really? Jemma, look at your leg. Look at your _neck_ …’

Her hand moves from his cheek to his eyes, trying in vain to brush them shut. ‘Don’t look,’ she instructs faintly.

‘How can I _not_?’ His fingers thread through her hair and she looks up at him. ‘It’s you.’

Jemma gives a deep, shuddering sigh, and presses even closer to him. ‘But,’ she says, ‘it wasn’t you.’ Fitz hears the tremble in her voice, and remembers with a start what she had been forced to do to the machine wearing his face. ‘It wasn’t _you_.’

He has to wonder how much she is saying it for herself as she is for him.

Finding that his throat is suddenly dry, Fitz has to lick his lips before he speaks again.

‘Can I…can I touch you?’

Jemma’s eyes widen and for a moment she looks almost shy, as if it had been her who had thought he was a stranger, as if it had been her who had scoffed at the story he was desperately trying to tell her, as if it had been her who, in another life, hadn’t cared whether he lived or died.

‘Yeah,’ she whispers.

Fitz is about to reach out for her when he realises that once his hands touch her neck the shape of his fingertips will perfectly match the shape of her bruises and, despite what she has said, that isn’t something that he is quite ready to see.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and bows his head. 

His lips touch a soft patch of skin just below her cheekbone and he lets them linger there for a moment, feeling her pulse quicken underneath his touch. The feel of this, this quiet, undeniable confirmation that she is alive, reassures him like nothing else ever could.

He feels Jemma’s hand start to rub at his shoulder and, understanding this as encouragement, as a silent request for him to keep going, he moves his lips to another bruise lower down her neck to kiss that too.

And so he continues, carefully tracing the pattern of her bruises down to the nape of her neck and up again, leaving no spot unkissed, and when a single tear rolls down Jemma’s cheek and dribbles onto her chin, he kisses that too, tasting salt on his tongue.

‘It’s enough,’ she murmurs to him, her voice thick, ‘this is enough, Fitz. I’ve had enough now.’

He can only nod, knowing exactly what she means without her having to say it. He drops a kiss onto her forehead, and then another, just because he can.

‘I know,’ he says, using his thumb to wipe away more tears falling from her lower eyelashes. ‘I know. We’ve had enough.’

When he says it, he hopes she understands that it is a promise.

They have been fighting for too long now: fighting for survival, fighting to do good, to _be_ good. They have been fighting for each other since the moment they met. Even the strongest people have their limits, and Jemma is the strongest person Fitz has ever known.

He strokes her hair and repeats his promise: ‘this has been enough.’

As soon as the sun comes up, he will start negotiating with Coulson to give them the time off they are owed.

A few minutes have gone by before Jemma tugs at his shirt. She taps at her neck and looks up at him.

‘Keep going,’ she says, before adding: ‘please?’

For a moment, Fitz can only stare into her eyes, wet and warm and still so full of love for him and for them, even after everything she has gone through, and think of how much she mean to him. Then, he nods and manages to offer her a smile.

‘Yeah,’ he whispers, ‘yeah, of course.’

He dips his head to kiss her again, his lips skimming each bruise as tenderly as they possibly can. He hears Jemma give a little sigh, and her body starts to feel heavier against him as she finally allows herself to unwind once more.

Fitz is not delusional enough to think that this might be all she needs. He knows better than that, knows that the road of healing ahead will be long for her; it will be long for all of them, all of their team.

But if this little bit of softness can do something to relieve the hurt she feels tonight then he will keep giving it to her, long after she has fallen asleep in his arms and streaks of daylight begin to fill up the bunks of the Zephyr once more.

 

 


	35. things you said with clenched fists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fs + things you said with clenched fists.

 

 

‘This? Now? You want to talk about this _now_?’

He can’t quite believe what he is hearing. He is minutes away from following Coulson onto the quinnjet, heading straight for the eye of the storm and the heart of the battle, and yet Jemma has chosen this exact moment to talk to him about _that_ , of all things.

If the situation were different, he might even be tempted to laugh.

As she stands in front of him, Fitz can see how her eyes are glistening and as he watches her lips quiver with the words she is waiting to say. By her sides, her hands are held into fists, her fingers curled tightly inwards.

‘No…’ She gives a half-hearted laugh as he turns away again, stuffing more equipment into his backpack. ‘We don’t…’

Without looking back at her, Fitz zips up the backpack and swings it onto his shoulder, trying to ignore the way his heart is hammering against his tactical vest.

‘It means a lot to me,’ Jemma starts again, and even with his back to her he can feel the way the words are almost tripping off her tongue in her haste to get them out, ‘that we’re friends again, and I…’

Fitz clicks a bullet into his Icer and bites down on his tongue so hard he tastes blood. 

He wants to tell her the truth, that it means a lot to him too; he wants to tell her that her friendship means _everything_ to him and that he would never want to do anything to risk it again.

He wants to tell her this, but the words have vanished from his mind and he can’t.

‘Maybe,’ Jemma says, and he can hear the hesitancy mingling with the urgency in her voice, ‘when you get back we could finally…just…talk about it?’

Swallowing, Fitz turns back around. His eyes can’t quite make it to her face, and so he focuses on her hands instead, still clenched into fists by her sides with her thumbs worrying at the seams of her trousers.

‘It’s…’ He sighs, and tries to think about the mission ahead of him and not about the way her skin had reflected the light at the bottom of the ocean. ‘There’s nothing to discuss, Jemma.’

He takes one step, and then two, away from her and towards the locker room door but that is all he manages before he feels a hand grab his own. 

In the split second when she thought he was going to leave, Jemma’s fists had unfurled to reach up five hopeful fingers to stop him from doing so. The movement turn him back towards the room and towards her.

For the first time since she had tentatively breached the subject of what she wanted to talk to him about, Fitz looks up at her.

Her eyes are still bright but this time he can see the hope in them, shining out from behind her tears, and the more he looks at her, the clearer he can see it in the whole of her face. She is brimming with it, and it is about to spill over.

‘Maybe there is.’

It feels as if the entire world has faded away, crumbling into nothing, until the only things left to exist are Fitz, Jemma and the three words she has just said. For a moment, he can only sway on his feet as the implication of them sink in and a thousand unspoken conversations pass between their eyes. 

But then he is moving towards her, and she is moving towards him too, and his hand is on her waist while hers is on his shoulder, and their lips meet with what feels like a force stronger than gravity.

Fitz had closed his eyes the second his forehead tipped against hers and now he is grateful that he had because it means that he can fully lose himself in the sensation of kissing Jemma.

Her lips are cold, but they grow warmer with every moment more his are on them, and her hands are gentle as they move up to cup the back of his neck. Fitz feels his heart start to quicken underneath his vest as their kiss grows deeper and he drops his rucksack to the floor to free his other hand to pull her even closer.

Jemma responds to this eagerly, pushing herself up onto her tiptoes as her lips dance over his like this is a performance of a lifetime.

Perhaps it is.

With every touch of her hand, every taste of her lips, Fitz feels like he is coming alive again.

They shift, their kisses taking on a slightly more passionate rhythm as they become faster and faster, and he slides his hand to cradle the back of her head as he walks her backwards to the lockers.

With her back pressed against them, Jemma grips at the straps of his vest almost urgently, pulling him flush against her. Fitz feels his hands wander to her hips as he continues to kiss her, and when the fabric of her shirt slips out from her trousers his fingers skim the soft, warm skin hidden underneath.

Standing like that, with her in his arms and her lips turning into a smile as they catch against his, he thinks they might be able to kiss forever.

But of course, they can’t.

‘Agent Fitz! We’re on the move.’

The voice of their director, cutting through the small space of the locker room, is more than enough to kill the moment. Jemma breaks away from him abruptly but keeps her hands still on his shoulders. As he hears Coulson’s footsteps retreat, Fitz bites down on his lip and wonders for a brief moment just how much he had seen.

When he looks back at Jemma, however, thoughts of anything but her fall from his mind.

‘I’ll come back,’ he promises, reaching up to brush a few stray strands of hair back from her face.

Jemma snorts, rubbing her fingers against her lips. Her eyes are slightly dazed as she remarks, ‘after what just happened, I think you’d better.’

Fitz can’t help himself from laughing, feeling tears spring to his eyes even as he does so, and he nods. ‘I will, I promise.’

He bends his head forward, intent on kissing her again, but Jemma lifts a single finger to stop his lips and fixes him with a look.

‘And then,’ she says, softly but meaningfully, ‘we can talk?’

Struck dumb by the intensity in her eyes, Fitz nods. When he manages to speak again, his voice sounds hoarse to his ears. ‘And then,’ he promises, ‘we can talk about anything and everything that you want.’

Jemma smiles and, placing both her hands on either side of his face, lifts herself up to kiss him once more. As her lips caress his, Fitz feels his heart swell as the hope he had seen spilling out of her soaks into him instead.

It feels like they are sharing the promise of what is yet to come.

He manages to pull himself away from her, letting his hands trail out from under hers, and steps back to pick up his rucksack from where he had dropped it on the floor.

Fitz makes it three paces out of the locker room door before he gives in and looks back. Jemma is still standing where he had left her, braced against the lockers, and she is smiling at him as he goes, a brave smile that fills his bones with the confidence that she believes in him.

Her hands are still held down by her sides but, as he turns away from her to follow Coulson to the quinnjet, Fitz notices that they are no longer curled into fists. 

Now, they are open, and he can’t wait to come home and hold them again.

 

 


	36. things you said as we danced in our socks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fs + things you said as we danced in our socks.

 

 

‘I still don’t get how you did it,’ Fitz grunts, and Jemma feels the table they are carrying between them slip a little.

She shifts her hands on either side of it, trying to lift it higher. ‘How I did what?’

With his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, Fitz carefully manoeuvres the table through the door. ‘How you managed to convince Mace to let us have the afternoon off to move into the apartment.’

Feeling a pang of smug satisfaction as she remembers the negotiations she had made with their director, Jemma gives him a knowing smile across the table. ‘Oh, I have my ways.’

Fitz rolls his eyes at her, but he is smiling too. 

‘Come on then.’ He nods his head, eyeing something behind her. ‘It’s going to take both of us to get this bloody thing up the stairs.’

Their apartment is on the fifth floor of the building, which means five flights of stairs to carry the table and the rest of their belongings up. It takes them most of the afternoon, and once the SHIELD van they had very kindly been allowed to borrow is finally empty, they both stand back to survey their new living room and catch their breath.

Ever since Daisy had secured the place for them the week before, Jemma had been haunting the Ikea website with Fitz moderating her shopping basket, tactfully removing the items they didn’t really need. Despite this, seeing the room in front of her filled with new furniture and boxes of their books and pictures gives Jemma a shiver of excitement.

Fitz moves first, kicking off his shoes and dropping to the floor before covering his eyes with his hands.

‘God,’ he moans, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. ‘Couldn’t you have bought an apartment on the ground floor?’

Laughing, Jemma follows suit, lying down next to him and staring up at the ceiling. There is a cobweb in the corner that she makes a mental note to dust away later.

‘There weren’t any for sale on the ground floor,’ she says. ‘But if there had been, I would have bought it, just for you.’

She can practically feel him smile, and he reaches across to take her hand, linking his fingers through hers.

‘Thanks, Jemma.’

They lie like that for several minutes, their hands intertwined and their breaths slowly synchronising. Jemma can’t stop herself from looking around, unable to believe they had really pulled it off. There was now a place, away from the Playground, that she and Fitz could call their own. Their _home_.

After a while, she rolls onto her stomach and props herself up by her elbows so she is looking down at him.

‘You do like it here, though, don’t you?’ she asks anxiously. ‘You wouldn’t rather we had looked somewhere else?’

Fitz shakes his head immediately, and reaches up to touch her cheek. ‘No, Jemma,’ he says, his voice soft. ‘I love it here. It’s absolutely perfect.’

Jemma smiles, leaning into his touch. ‘You really mean that?’

He snorts. ‘How could I not think that any home with you in it, looking so happy, isn’t absolutely perfect?’

She chuckles, and tucks her hair back behind her ears before dipping down to kiss him, feeling the familiar curve of his lips fit against hers. 

Fitz’s hands glide across her back as they kiss, pulling her across him until she is lying flat on his stomach, their legs tangled together. Jemma feels her cheeks flush at the sensation and pushes herself further up his chest to kiss him deeper.

‘There is one thing,’ Fitz mumbles against her lips, ‘that this place _doesn’t_ have going for it.’

‘Oh?’ She frowns at him. ‘And what’s that?’

With one hand, he taps his fingernails against the floor.

‘These hardwork floors are an absolute bugger for my back.’

Jemma laughs and pushes herself up onto her knees, holding out her hands to pull him upright. ‘Maybe so,’ she agrees, ‘but I can think of something it might be more useful for.’

Fitz quirks an eyebrow at her as they get to their feet. ‘And what’s that then?’

Pointing down at their socks, Jemma grins, before stepping into his arms and taking his hand in hers. 

‘This,’ she says softly, and starts to sway.

Fitz understands what she is doing almost instantly, and she sees his face light up as his hand settles on her waist, pulling her even closer as they dance.

They have no music, but they find that that doesn’t matter; they match each other’s steps perfectly, anticipating the other’s moves and catching them when they slide on the polished floorboards with a burst of laughter.

Growing braver, Fitz spins her out, twirling her around with one hand, and Jemma tilts her head back as he does so, trusting him not to let her go. When he pulls her back in, he wraps one arm around her waist and takes her hand with the other, dropping a light kiss to her forehead.

With a little sigh, Jemma rests her head on his shoulder as they continue to spin together, rocking to an inaudible rhythm that only the two of them seem able to hear.

‘Did I tell you,’ she murmurs, ‘that Mace has allowed us the night off as well? We don’t have to be back at the base until tomorrow morning.’ She twists her head upwards to look at him. ‘We can stay here tonight, if you want to.’

Slowly, she watches Fitz’s face break into a wide grin, and he bends down to kiss her again, deeply and lazily. ‘Have I told you today how much I love you?’

Jemma smiles against him. ‘Yes. Yes, you have.’

‘Oh.’ Fitz frowns, his forehead creasing against hers. ‘Well, in that case, have I told you that you’re brilliant? That you’re amazing?’

Tilting her head to one side, she pretends to think about it. ‘You know what, I don’t think you have. Go ahead.’

‘You’re brilliant,’ Fitz whispers, giving her another kiss, ‘and you’re amazing,’ and then another, ‘ _and_ I love you.’

Smiling, Jemma wraps her arms around his middle and hugs him tight. ‘I love you too.’

Outside, she can see the sun starting to set, casting a warm, rose-coloured glow through the apartment as they continue to dance together, turning in slow circles in each other’s arms.

Fitz nuzzles against her hair. ‘Jemma,’ he says gently after a moment, ‘you do realise that we can’t…’ He sighs, his thumb starting to rub comfortingly on her back. ‘I mean, not _yet_ , anyway…’

A lump suddenly appearing in her throat, Jemma nods. ‘I know,’ she whispers. ‘There’s too much going on right now for us to be here permanently. That’s why we only brought the essentials with us today.’ She blinks twice, clearing the tears from her eyes. ‘Tomorrow morning we’ll move back to the base.’

She feels Fitz kiss the top of her head almost apologetically, his fingers running through her hair.

‘But,’ he says, ‘this place isn’t going anywhere. We might be going back to the Playground tomorrow, but one day, when we’re ready and when we can, we can come back here. We can make it our home.’

‘Our home,’ Jemma repeats, and she feels a warmth spread through her chest at how wonderful the words sound.

‘But for now…’ Carefully, Fitz pulls back from her until he is gazing into her eyes.

Lifting an eyebrow at him, Jemma throws him a quizzical look. ‘For now?’

He holds out one hand to her, and she notices the playful look on his face, shining out through all the love.

‘May I have this dance?’

With a laugh and a smile, Jemma takes his hand and is reminded exactly why she adores him.

‘Always,’ she replies.

Fitz grins at her and surprises her by spinning her around again, before pulling her close and leading her into something that feels to Jemma an awful lot like a wedding waltz.

 

 


	37. things you said before you kissed me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fs + things you said before you kissed me.

 

 

i.

He has only just stumbled back into the base’s main hallway, locking the door securely behind him even though he knows there is little chance any of Hive’s minions having followed him that way, when he sees her turn the corner.

Jemma’s hair is flying out behind her as she runs, her face white and pinched, and Fitz barely has the time to bat away the lab techs trying to talk to him before she reaches him. When she does, she all but flings herself at him, her feet leaving the ground and her arms winding tightly around his neck.

His hands still shaking slightly, it takes all of Fitz’s concentration not to drop her and he staggers backwards to lean against the wall, supporting both their weights. He can feel the agents around them quickly disperse, and he is grateful for that, especially as he can feel relieved tears start to prick behind his closed eyes.

After a few more moments, Jemma lifts her head and slides to the floor, relieving the ache in his arms. Carefully, she brings both her hands up and holds them on either side of his face, her thumbs stroking over his cheeks. When he looks in her eyes and sees the all-encompassing terror still shining there, Fitz wants to pull her in close again and never let go.

‘I don’t want to lose you,’ she says, her voice thick with tears. ‘Not like that.’

He shakes his head, and reaches out for her. Jemma falls into him with a sob, pressing her face into his chest. Feeling the beat of her frantic heart start to slow, Fitz takes a deep breath to try and calm his own.

‘You’re not going to lose me,’ he replies fiercely. ‘Not at all.’

He feels Jemma nod against him, and she gives a shuddering sigh as her grip on the back of his jacket tightens.

She kisses him hard, her lips hot and tasting of salt, and to Fitz it feels like the searing burn of a covenant.

 

ii.

The quinnjet lands back at the Playground at past midnight and, once the ramp has lowered, the team leave mostly in silence, each fully absorbed in their own thoughts.

Fitz makes his way down the quiet, darkened hallways to his bunk, fighting hard to keep his eyes open. When he opens the door, however, and sees Jemma sitting on the edge of their bed with her hands fidgeting in her lap and her eyes staring straight ahead, he suddenly feels wide awake.

‘Jemma?’

At the sound of her name, she jumps, and on noticing him in the doorway, gets to her feet. She opens her mouth, as if she is about to say something, then closes it again, bringing her hand up to cover it. Fitz notices that she is still wearing the violet blouse she had been wearing that morning, now rumpled and stained, and that she hasn’t even bothered to remove her make up. Black smears of mascara paint her cheeks, dampened with tear stains.

With a heavy heart, he thinks about the debrief Coulson had given them on the ride home of what had happened with May in DC and how worried he had been to hear about it. Now though, he realises that Coulson must have decided to only give them the shortened version.

Here, written on Jemma’s face, is the full story.

Sucking in a breath, Fitz shrugs off his blazer and throws his bag down onto the floor.

‘What do you need me to do?’ he asks, and with two strides he is standing right in front of her.

A shudder seems to run through Jemma’s body and she looks up at him.

‘Hold me,’ she says, before adding quietly: ‘please.’

Fitz nods, but before he can do anything she has stepped towards him. He wraps his arms around her shoulders, drawing her closer and pressing light kisses to the top of her head, her hairline, the bridge of her nose and anywhere else that he can reach.

She kisses him back later, once they are lying in bed in each other’s arms, and her lips tell him more of her gratitude than any words ever could.

 

iii.

At the rate they are going, Fitz thinks, they aren’t going to make it back to their bunk in time.

He had taken her by the waist the moment they stepped out of the storage room together, spinning her towards him and kissing her soundly. Jemma had grinned into him as he had done this, her hands working backwards into his hair and her body fusing against his.

Now, they are tumbling through the halls of the Playground together, tripping over one another’s feet and giggling into each other’s lips. With Jemma held in his arms, kissing him as though her life depends on it, Fitz feels more alive than he has for weeks.

‘I meant what I said, you know,’ he says into her ear as she kisses his neck. ‘What you did today…I found that _very_ attractive.’

Jemma gives a mock gasp as they spin on the spot, coming to a halt outside the closed doors of the (thankfully empty) lab.

‘Why, Dr. Fitz,’ she teases, ‘what a thing to say. And in the workplace, no less!’

He laughs into her and she takes his hand and pulls, leading him forwards until they are running through the corridors like reckless teenagers and Fitz thinks his heart is about to burst out of his chest with how much he loves her.

Jemma only stops when they reach the door of their bunk, falling against it as she catches her breath, and looks up at him.

‘Now though,’ she says coyly, ‘since we are technically no longer in the workplace, I think it would be acceptable for you to continue what you were saying.’

Catching her meaning, Fitz grins and steps closer until he can feel the tickle of her hair on his cheeks.

‘To be fair,’ he whispers, ‘I don’t think there’s ever a time when I don’t find you attractive.’

Jemma puffs out her chest, and he knows that if he could see her properly in the dim glow of the hallway she would be glowing.

‘I know,’ she says happily, her chuckle warm and breathy on his skin.

She takes a hold of his collar to bring him in to kiss her and, as they stumble backwards into their room, Fitz knows that he will always allow her to lead him wherever she wants to go.

 

iv.

When Jemma’s chest arches upwards, the monitor above her suddenly juddering into life, Fitz finds himself sobbing in relief.

He reaches for her, but even with only one hand Daisy is quicker than he is, and she is already at Jemma’s head to ease the framework headset off her. So instead, he simply holds her, one hand slipped underneath her head to stop her falling back onto the stretcher and the other on her leg.

‘It’s okay,’ he says, praying that it is. ‘We’ve got you, it’s okay.’

She murmurs something, still with her eyes closed, and lolls against him. With his heart in his mouth, Fitz slides the hand on her head across her back so that she can lean on his chest properly, pulling her close.

He feels Daisy touch him on the shoulder, before resting her hand on the top of Jemma’s head briefly, and then she is gone, presumably to find the rest of their team.

Resting his head against Jemma’s temple, Fitz finally allows himself to exhale for the first time since he’d seen her still trapped inside the framework.

‘I can’t lose you,’ he mumbles, and the words taste like ash in his mouth. ‘Not ever again.’

Jemma stirs, and her eyes flutter open as she lifts one hand laboriously to pat it on his chest.

‘Well,’ she says, and he has to lean in closer to hear what she says. ‘There’s an easy way to make sure you never have to.’

‘Oh, really?’ Fitz sniffs, running his fingers through her tangled hair. ‘And what’s that then?’

Jemma smiles, her hand still resting on his heart. ‘Marry me.’

He bursts out laughing, and nods. ‘Yeah. Yeah, okay.’ He kisses her on the forehead, joy rising in his chest. ‘Let’s do that.’

It takes Jemma very little effort to tug him downwards so she can kiss him properly, which is just as well seeing as Fitz can already feel her slipping away into sleep as she does so. He kisses her back gently, hoping that she is still awake enough to register the promise in his kiss.

 

 


	38. things you said in the spur of the moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fs + things you said in the spur of the moment

 

 

‘Maybe we should just run away!’

It is a throw away remark, said in the heat of the moment. Fitz is pacing at the foot of the bed, his hands on his hips and his chin tipped forward as he says it, his frustration palpable. It is a throw away remark, but it makes Jemma pause even so.

She stops, putting down her pen and staring down. She is sitting on their bed, surrounded by wedding plans, venue bookings and all the relevant paperwork SHIELD requires its employees to fill in when they get married.

Jemma had never realised planning a wedding could be so much like…well, _work_.

Pursing her lips together, she shuffles some of the papers that they have been pouring over for hours aside and crawls forward so that she can catch his arm as he walks by her.

Fitz stops pacing instantly, and turns to face her with a look of surprise. Giving him a soft smile, Jemma tilts her head to one side.

‘Maybe,’ she says quietly, ‘we should.’

For a moment, he only stares at her but, as the realisation dawns on him, a slow grin starts to spread across his face.

‘I never wanted a big wedding anyway…’ he admits.

‘And,’ Jemma adds, excitement stirring in the pit of her stomach, ‘we always said we’d have a second ceremony back home for our parents, so we can save all that we’ve planned for then…’

‘Daisy will murder us, of course, but we can throw a party for the team when we get back…’

‘And the paperwork doesn’t specify that it has to be done before the wedding takes place, so _technically_ …’

Jemma sucks in a breath. Fitz’s eyes are shining, and he reaches out to take her hands in his.

‘All of this stuff,’ he says, nodding to the papers on the bed, ‘filling in forms and ringing up hotels…I don’t need any of that. The only thing I need to marry you, Jemma, is _you_.’

Smiling, Jemma kneels up so that there is no space left between them and pulls him down to kiss her. Fitz wraps his arms around her waist as he deepens the kiss, his lips warm and familiar.

When they pull apart, they stay in each other’s arms, feeling the other’s heartbeat thump gently through their shirts. In the dark of their room, it is a sound Jemma has come to associate with _home_.

‘Fitz,’ she murmurs, lifting her head to rub her nose against his. ‘Did we just agree to run away and get married without telling our friends?’

He grins. ‘I believe the word for it, Dr Simmons, is _eloping_.’

* * *

They don’t pack much; a change of clothes each, their toothbrushes and the rings Fitz had designed for them months before, in the week following their engagement.

With their overnight bags clutched in one hand, they link their fingers with the other, hurrying down the darkened corridors of the Playground whilst trying to stifle their sudden, uncontrollable laughter.

Fitz drives, picking out one of the black SUVs and helping her into the passenger seat. He turns the key, the car shuddering into life, and Jemma feels the thrill in her stomach again.

She leans across the gear stick to take his hand again and Fitz lifts her fingers up to his lips. He kisses them, one by one, and grins at her.

They drive off into the night, leaving behind only a hastily scribbled note of explanation on the fridge, held in place with a novelty magnet brought home from the Seychelles.

* * *

The sun is beginning to peak out over the horizon, bathing the world in a thin golden light, when Jemma speaks for the first time.

‘Fitz?’

‘Hmm?’

‘I realise that the idea behind the concept of eloping is spontaneity but I do think it might be worth considering where we are actually going.’

He nods, grimacing. ‘Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that too.’

They drive past a sign post, indicating that the nearest town is ten miles away, and Jemma points towards it. ‘Maybe there?’ she suggests. ‘They must have a town hall, someone who can officiate a wedding…’

Fitz scratches at his chin. ‘They must have…but it’s still practically night, and I doubt they’ll be able to get to us for a couple of hours. That’s if they have the time to marry us today at all…’

Jemma groans as a a sudden thought comes to her. ‘Do you think we’ll need a witness? Fitz, we’ll have to grab some random person off the street! And what if they ask for IDs? I can’t hand over my orange lanyard, even if SHIELD is a legal organisation again!’

Much to her surprise, he starts to laugh.

‘Fitz! This isn’t funny!’

‘Actually,’ he says, glancing across at her. ‘It kind of is. We eloped to try and escape all the micromanaging and paperwork associated with a wedding and now here we are, miles away from it, still micromanaging and worrying about paperwork.’

Jemma rolls her eyes at him, but she can’t help smiling as she sinks back into her seat. ‘Alright, fine. Maybe it’s a little bit funny.’

Fitz reaches over and rubs the top of her thigh, keeping one hand on the steering wheel. ‘Tell me what you want to do,’ he says. ‘And we’ll do exactly that.’

With a sigh, Jemma stares out the front window and carefully considers all their options.

They could turn back around and head back to base; with any luck, they’ll be back before anyone has a chance to miss them. They could try going into the town and hope that someone there would be willing to marry them at such short notice and without any legal identification. They could keep driving and driving and never stop.

Through the windshield, Jemma can see the sun rising and, with a fresh wave of clarity, suddenly understands exactly what she wants.

‘Pull over.’

Fitz blinks at her in surprise. ‘Why? Are you alright?’

She nods, urgency and excitement pulling at her stomach. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just pull over.’

He obeys, pulling into a lay-by on the side of the road and parking the SUV. Jemma is out of the car before he has even taken the key out, hurrying around to his side and opening his door.

‘Have you got the rings?’ she asks.

Fitz pats the top pocket of his shirt. ‘Yeah.’

‘And you know your vows?’

He smiles, as though he is beginning to understand her. ‘Yeah.’

Smiling back, Jemma tugs him by the hand. 

The grass under their feet is slick with dew as they walk, hand in hand, across the open field the car had stopped next to. Glancing up, Jemma notices that the sun has still not fully risen.

Once she deems them far enough away from the road, she stops and turns towards him.

‘You said that the only thing you needed to marry me was me,’ she says. ‘Did you mean that?’

Fitz nods, his expression soft and his eyes full of tenderness. ‘Of course I did.’

‘Alright.’ Taking a deep breath, Jemma gazes up at him. ‘Let’s get married here then. Let’s get married now. We’ve never needed anybody else tohelp us understand tell us how much we mean to each other. I don’t see why we should start doing that now.’

For a split second, Fitz hesitates, then he surges forward, catching her lips with his and kissing her.

‘I love you,’ he mumbles against her mouth.

Jemma grins, and briefly kisses him back before pulling away and raising one eyebrow at him.

‘Maybe we should save that for after the vows, hmm?’

They marry each other in the open field, with the sunrise as their witness and as Jemma leans in to kiss her husband for the first time, with the morning light warming her bare arms and a ring of gold circling the third finger on her left hand, the promise of a new dawn means more to her than it ever has before.

 

 


	39. things you said in the backyard at night (and at the kitchen table)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fs + things you said in the backyard at night (and a little bit of things you said at the kitchen table)

 

 

When Alfie says that he wants to camp out in the garden over night, Jemma almost drops the saucepan she is holding.

Putting it back on the hob, she turns towards her son. He is sitting at the kitchen table with Fitz, pots of paints and brushes all around him and smears of paint up his arms and crusted in his hair. He continues daubing at the paper with his brush, utterly oblivious to the surprise of his parents at his request.

Across the table, Jemma catches her husband’s eye and sees him raise one eyebrow at her in a question. The look on her face must have been answer enough, because he clears his throat and ruffles their three-year-old’s curls affectionately.

‘And why do you want to do that, little man?’

Alfie lifts his painting, sopping wet and weighed down with thick paint, up for them to see. He has used almost all of the midnight blue paint from his set to cover the entire page and then used white to make several small blobs and one bigger blob across the paper. Unfortunately, he hasn’t waited for the blue to dry and the white has run into it, streaking down the page.

Despite this, it is clear enough to Jemma what he had been meaning to paint.

‘I want to see the stars.’

 _Oh_.

Swallowing hard, she exchanges another look with Fitz and joins them at the table.

‘You know we don’t _have_ to go outside to see the stars,’ she says softly. ‘You can always use the telescope upstairs, Alfie, you know that. We can look through it tonight, if you want.’

He shakes his head, and crosses his arms over his chest to pout, a perfect imitation of his father.

‘I want to see them _outside_.’

Jemma licks her lips anxiously, feeling an old fear rise in her chest, a fear she had long thought lost. Apparently though, she is not quite that lucky.

As always when she feels lost, she looks for Fitz. He has been watching her and Alfie carefully and now, when she widens her eyes at him slightly and tilts her head to one side, he gives her an almost imperceptible nod.

‘Okay,’ he says, using one finger to lift their son’s chin up. ‘Okay. You and I will sleep out under the stars tonight. How does that sound?’

Alfie’s little face lights up, and he nods enthusiastically. He turns to Jemma. ‘And Mummy too?’

Jemma hesitates and, for a moment, she feels the sting of sand on her arms and the open expanse of a night sky belonging to another galaxy flashes before her eyes. She shudders involuntarily and both her husband and son seem to notice this.

Shooting Fitz a quick, reassuring smile over Alfie’s head, Jemma draws her son close and leans their heads together. Alfie’s soft eyelashes bat against her cheek and she inhales deeply, feeling her heart start to slow.

‘No,’ she says, kissing the top of his head in an apology. ‘No, little darling. Not tonight.’

* * *

It is long past midnight, and Jemma is still wide awake. Lying in the middle of her and Fitz’s bed, she turns over for the umpteenth time in an hour and groans. 

From her spot on the mattress, she can see the garden through the window. Pushing back the sheets, she gets out of bed and makes her way over to peer out of it.

Alfie and Fitz had spent the afternoon building the tent for their camping trip, down at the bottom of the garden. Jemma had helped her son carry his bedding down the stairs and out to the tent whilst her husband battled his way through various poles and tarpaulin sheets.

Alfie had asked her again to sleep out with them, his dark eyes looking up at her beseechingly, and Jemma had felt her chest tighten with guilt as she told him no once more, before quickly offering to make some flapjacks for him to eat inside the tent that night.

He had agreed eagerly, and not asked her since, but the memory leaves a bitterness at the back of Jemma’s throat.

Silently, she moves through the empty house and pulls on an old cardigan of Fitz’s and a pair of slippers. Slipping out the back door, she picks her way down the garden to the tent, stubbornly refusing to allow herself to look upwards.

She reaches the tent and finds that the door is unzipped.

‘Fitz?’

He is sitting up, his body leaning over a sleeping Alfie protectively, and as she moves further into the tent Jemma sees him slide something sliver back under his sleeping bag. She cannot help but roll her eyes.

‘Fitz, you didn’t _really_ bring a gun on a camping trip with our three-year-old, did you?’

‘Actually, it’s an Icer,’ he says defensively. ‘And I put the safety on.’ Underneath the moonlight, she sees his face soften. ‘What are you doing down here? Is everything alright?’

Jemma shakes her head. ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she says, brushing one hand over Alfie’s feathery curls. She smiles wryly up at him. ‘I’ve been sleeping next to you for so long I think I’ve forgotten how to do it when you’re not there.’

Fitz smiles fleetingly back at her. ‘He’s sound enough asleep for me to carry him back to the house,’ he says, nodding down at their son. ‘We can sneak back down here before he wakes up…’

‘No.’ She shakes her head again. ‘No, that wouldn’t be fair on him. I’ll stay here.’

‘Are you sure?’

Fitz looks so concerned that Jemma leans across to kiss him, sweetly, on the lips.

‘I’m sure.’

She lays down, curling herself around Alfie and smiling when she feels him squirm in his sleep against her. Fitz joins her, tugging a blanket across to cover the three of them.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Jemma murmurs, ‘about what your mum said about Alfie the last time we visited her.’

She watches Fitz frown. ‘What,  _“a wee dram of whiskey before bed never did anybody any harm”_? He’s been sleeping like a trouper for months now, Jem.’

‘No, not that.’ For the second time that night, she rolls her eyes at him. ‘She told us that raising a child was the hardest, most rewarding adventure of a lifetime.’

‘Hmm? Why are you thinking about that?’

‘Because when she said it I thought I knew what she meant. Having Alfie has been the hardest thing we’ve ever done…’ Briefly, she touches her son’s cheek with her finger. ‘But every second has been worth it.’

‘Yeah,’ Fitz whispers, and when she looks up at him Jemma sees that he is smiling. ‘Yeah, it has.’

‘But after today,’ she continues, ‘I’ve been thinking about those words a little differently. Before today, everything we’ve encountered as parents has been something new, and that’s why it’s been difficult. As Alfie gets bigger, we’re going to start encountering _old_ things. And those things are going to be just as, if not more, difficult.’

Fitz nods, letting her know that he understands. He reaches out for her, and joins their fingers across their son’s body. Jemma takes a deep breath to steady herself before speaking again.

‘We can’t allow things like being afraid of sleeping under the stars to stop us from being the best parents we can be,’ she says. ‘It’s not fair to Alfie, and I won’t do that to him. I want to do every single camping trip that he wants to take me on.’

Leaning across, Fitz kisses her on the forehead. ‘You’re so brave, do you know that?’ he asks in a murmur.

Jemma chuckles quietly. ‘I’m only as brave as the two of you allow me to be.’

‘That’s not true,’ Fitz interjects, ‘but, just so you know, I’m with you. Always.’

Squeezing his hand in gratitude, Jemma settles back down again. Aflie’s soft curls tickle her cheek and she presses a kiss to his temple.

‘Knowing our luck,’ Fitz mumbles in the dark, ‘the next one will want to go deep-sea diving.’

Jemma stifles her laughter and kicks him, lightly, on the shin. It is only after their chuckles have died down that she really takes note of what he said.

‘The _next_ one?’

He shrugs. ‘Well, if we’re going to have the hardest, most rewarding adventure of our lifetime, we might as well do it with four on the team, mightn’t we?’

Jemma considers this, before her lips spread into a wide grin. ‘That’s true. Maybe we could even have five on the team.’

‘Or six?’

Feeling her heart swell and a deep warmth fill her from top to toe, Jemma gives him a look through the dark. ‘How about we start with four and go from there?’

Fitz grins back at her, stretching out to brush a loose strand of hair back from her face. ‘Sounds like a plan.’

Before he can pull away, Jemma takes hold of his hand, forcing him to look down at her.

‘I love you,’ she says, ‘so much.’

‘I know,’ Fitz whispers back. He kisses her, and his lips taste of sticky flapjacks and the chill of the night air. ‘And I love you too.’

That night, with her family around her and their tent flap open in front of them, Jemma remembers just how beautiful sleeping under the night sky can be.

 

 


	40. things you said when we were 18 and things you said when we were 70

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fs + things you said when we were 18 and things you said when we were 70

 

 

‘Just watch your step.’

‘I am, I am.’

‘And mind your head on that beam.’

‘Yes, I’ve seen it…’

‘Test how heavy the box is before you carry it down.’

Exasperated, Jemma turns to him. From his position at the bottom of the ladder, Fitz has a perfect view of her as she rolls her eyes at him.

‘Fitz, honestly. I’m seventy, I’m not decrepit.’

‘I know you’re not,’ he says, trying not to wince as she shakes her head, narrowly missing a beam of their roof as she clambers back through the hatch of the loft. ‘And besides, you’re technically not even seventy yet. There’s still a week to go.’

‘Exactly.’ She smirks, and, for a moment, looks so much younger than she really is. ‘If either of us is decrepit, it’s you, the one who has already turned seventy.’

Fitz sighs, and motions towards the cardboard box she is carrying. ‘Give that to me, then.’

Leaning through the hatch, Jemma passes him the box. It isn’t especially heavy, but he feels his bones creak like a rusty hinge as he lifts it down even so.

‘Is that it?’

She shakes her head. ‘There’s one more.’

Fitz nods, and holds his arms out for it. This one is heavier than the first, and he staggers against the ladder. From the loft, Jemma frowns at him, concern clouding her face. 

‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah.’ Setting the box down on the ground, he dusts his hands off. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Are you coming down now?’

She nods at him, before turning around and placing one foot on the first rung of the ladder. Fitz watches anxiously as she almost misses a step.

‘Be careful.’

Jemma laughs. ‘Says the man who almost put his back out twenty seconds ago.’

But, when he holds out a hand to help her down, she takes it gratefully.

Once she is safely back on the landing, Fitz turns to survey the boxes they had just recovered from the loft.

‘Remind me again,’ he says, ‘why we needed to get these down?’

Jemma sighs, stepping forward to pick up the first box and gesturing for him to take the second. 

‘Sunny and her girls want to make us a collage for the party next weekend,’ she explains as they carry the boxes into their bedroom. ‘And Sunny doesn’t have any pictures of us from before she and the boys were born. I told her we’d have a look, see if we had any.’

Fitz nods with a grin as he sets his box down on the bed. ‘I don’t think there’s much chance of us _not_ having any.’

In her later life, Jemma has become something of a hoarder. Anything that could be considered worth keeping was kept. Their children’s baby clothes, research from old projects they’d worked on, newspaper clippings of Daisy as director of SHIELD…Jemma has kept them all, working out an elaborate cataloguing system in their attic and always knowing where to lay her hands to find whatever it is that she wants. It is just one of the many things Fitz loves about her.

Jemma returns his smile and peels back the masking tape holding the lid of her box down. Fitz follows suit, folding back the lid to open his box. The first thing he sees makes him laugh out loud.

‘Our colour lanyards, Jemma, really? How did Mace let you get away with sneaking these home?’

His wife shrugs, arching one eyebrow mysteriously as she shuffles through photographs. ‘What that man didn’t know never hurt him.’

Shaking his head at her, Fitz continues to dig through his box. He comes across several photographs of he and Jemma at the Academy, and then in their lab at Sci-Ops. There are a couple of them with the team at the Playground which he knows Sunny will love and so he sets them to one side to give to her later. 

Underneath the photos, he finds a deep blue hoodie with white drawstrings, still smelling ever so faintly of Jemma’s perfume. Fitz rubs his thumbs against the material and smiles, allowing the bittersweet memories he associates with the garment to overwhelm him for a moment before setting it aside.

At the bottom of the box is an old textbook from their Academy days and, as he lifts it out, Fitz notices an envelope slip from the pages and fall to the floor.

He frowns, bending down to lift it up, hearing his joints click as he does so, and finds his name scribbled on the front.

‘What’s this?’

Jemma looks up from her box and her eyes widen. She hurries around the bed to take it from him and turns it over in amazement.

‘It’s a letter,’ she breathes, ‘that I wrote to you on our last night at the Academy. We got so drunk at the boiler room, do you remember? Well, after I went back to my dorm, I wrote a letter to you. Only, I was so drunk that I forgot where I had put it in the morning and what I’d written in it.’

Fitz has to laugh, and bends down to kiss her on the forehead, feeling excitement twist at his stomach. ‘Shall I open it?’

‘I don’t see why not.’ Jemma leans against him affectionately. ‘It’s addressed to you, after all.’

Carefully, Fitz uses his finger to open the envelope and slides the letter out. He notices Jemma’s drunken handwriting immediately, slightly sloppier than usual and with her letters looping over themselves. But, years of practice have made him an expert at deciphering her words and, with Jemma hanging over his shoulder, he starts to read with little difficulty.

 

_Dear Fitz,_

_I don’t quite know why I am bothering writing to you. I will be seeing you tomorrow for graduation, and then I’ll see you the day after tomorrow when we fly home to your mum. In fact, I know that I will be seeing you every day for at least the next two months, and I like knowing that._

_I think that I am writing to you because I want you to know that I never want a day to come when I don’t know the next time I will be seeing you. You’re my best friend, Fitz, and if you’ll let me I want to be able to spend every day with you._

_I want there to be an_ us _forever._

_Love, Simmons._

 

The last two words are smudged, as though her hand had slipped off the page before the ink had dried, but Fitz can still make them out, even through the tears beginning to blur his vision.

By his side, he feels Jemma’s shoulders start to shake and then she bursts out laughing, setting him off as well.

‘How old were you when you wrote this?’ he asks, holding up the letter.

‘Oh, God.’ She groans, letting her head flop forward to rest against his arm. ‘It was the year we moved to Sci-Ops, so I must have been…eighteen, maybe?’

‘I can’t believe,’ Fitz says, shaking his head with a laugh, ‘that I am holding in my hands the proposal you made to me when we were eighteen years old.’

‘You are, aren’t you?’ Jemma chuckles, using one finger to wipe away a tear that has trickled down her cheek. ‘Eighteen year old me certainly knew what she wanted, even if she didn’t quite understand it yet.’

Reaching out for her, Fitz pulls her in for a hug. She fits against him easily, the same way she has for over fifty years, and wraps her arms around his waist. She kisses the nape of his neck, and he feels a deep warmth flood through his body.

‘I suppose it was just lucky,’ he murmurs, ‘that thirty year old us knew exactly what we wanted and understood it too.’

Fitz feels Jemma start to smile, her lips curling upwards against his neck.

‘Yes,’ she whispers, lifting her head up she that he can gaze into her eyes. ‘I suppose it was, wasn’t it?’

He grins back at her, before cupping her cheek and closing his eyes to kiss her properly.

 

 


	41. stocking au part iv, things you said when we were the happiest we ever were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fs + things you said when we were the happiest we ever were, set in my christmas stocking universe from chapters 19, 25 and 26!

 

 

Her hospital room is so quiet that as Jemma leans back against her pillows she can hear the sound of her new born daughter’s tiny heartbeat thumping against her as she lies sound asleep on her chest.

Smiling, Jemma rubs her thumb in small, gentle circles on the baby’s back, trying to savour the last few moments she has with her alone before Fitz arrives to introduce the rest of their family to the new addition.

Whilst the two of them had been at the hospital, they had left the children with their Auntie Daisy, who, thanks to a SHIELD issue SUV, had managed to arrive at their house within fifteen minutes of being called and then had sent them off in the same SUV, announcing that she would take care of everything. 

That had been almost two days ago now and, as much as she has needed the rest, Jemma is starting to miss the noise and the chaos that her family almost always managed to bring with it, which is why when she hears their footsteps on the corridor outside her room, her heart leaps with excitement.

Carefully, she adjusts her hold on the baby as she shifts on the bed to sit up straighter, feeling her daughter squirm slightly in her arms as she does so. Rocking her slightly to quieten her, Jemma watches the door knob jiggle and grins, bracing herself for what is to come.

‘ _Mummy!_ ’

As expected, it is Ollie who bounds into the room first, ducking through Fitz’s legs as he opens the door and hurrying towards her. Stifling her laughter, Jemma puts one finger to her lips in warning and her youngest son instantly copies her, slowing to a tip toe as he approaches the bed, his eyes wide as he sees the baby in her arms.

Fitz had followed his son in, carrying Hazel on his hip and with Alfie hot on his heels.

‘Remember what he said, guys,’ he warms, setting Hazel down on the ground. ‘Quiet and gentle, yeah?’

All three children nod solemnly, their gazes fixed on their new baby sister in Jemma’s arms. Ollie clambers onto the chair next to the bed and scrunches up his nose.

‘She’s so _little_.’

‘You and Hazel were this little too, once upon a time,’ Jemma reminds him, reaching out to ruffle his curls. ‘And so was Alfie.’

Ollie seems to consider this, glancing across at his older brother curiously, before shaking his head. ‘No. Alfie’s big. He could _never_ have been this little.’

Meeting each other’s eyes over his head, his parents share a secret smile.

‘I want to see, I want to see!’ Hazel demands, tugging at the bed’s blankets. Fitz steps forwards and places his hands underneath her armpits, lifting her up onto the bed to sit at Jemma’s feet. He sits down next to her and points.

‘There she is, Haze,’ he says. ‘You wanted a little sister, didn’t you?’

Hazel nods, her dark eyes wide with awe as she stares at the baby. ‘I love her,’ she whispers, and Jemma feels happy tears prick at the corner of her eyes.

She looks up to find that Alfie has snuck around to her other side and she smiles at him as he leans against her arm.

‘Hi,’ she says, twisting around to kiss him on the forehead. ‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you too, Mum.’

Alfie reaches out a hand towards the baby and strokes his little finger against her cheek. She reacts to his touch, stretching one tiny arm out of her blanket and scrunching her eyes tight. 

Jemma looks up to her eldest son and smiles to see the delight on his face. She nods downwards to the baby.

‘Would you like to hold her?’

Alfie’s eyes light up, and he nods eagerly, already climbing onto the bed beside her.

‘Lean against the pillows,’ Jemma instructs, ‘and sit up as straight as you can; that’s it.’

Taking care to support the baby’s head, she lifts her from her own arms into Alfie’s waiting ones.

‘She’s heavy,’ he says in surprise, curling his arms around her. She gives a little grunt, her tiny arm still waving about. Carefully, he places one finger in the middle of her palm. ‘I didn’t think she would be.’

Jemma smiles, tugging the blanket around the baby. She glances across at Fitz, who has pulled Hazel onto his lap and is playing join-the-dots with his finger on the freckles on her cheek. He catches her eye and grins at her, his eyes telling her the exact same thing he had told her when each of their children had been born, the same thing he has been telling her every day for the past ten years: _I love you_.

Jemma hopes that with the smile she gives him she says the exact same thing.

‘What’s her name?’ Alfie asks quietly after a moment.

‘Well, actually,’ Jemma says, winking at Fitz, ‘Daddy and I don’t really have one for her yet. We were wondering whether any of you had any ideas.’

‘Paddington!’ Ollie says immediately.

Jemma laughs, and Fitz reaches out to pull their son onto the bed to join the rest of his family.

‘She might be the size of a teddy bear now,’ he says gently, ‘but she’s going to grow up into a little girl. So we need a little girl name for her.’

‘How about Charlotte?’ Alfie says, looking up from his sister. ‘Like from _Charlotte’s Web_. That’s my favourite book.’

Fitz blinks at him. ‘You want to name your sister after a fictional spider?’

‘Not just any spider,’ Alfie insists. ‘She’s kind and brave and clever.’ He shifts his arms, so that the baby is held more securely there. ‘I think that she’s going to be those things too.’

Feeling her heart swell at his words, Jemma glances over at her husband. Fitz is smiling at their children with tears shining in his eyes and he nods his agreement at her.

‘Charlotte,’ Jemma says, testing the name out on her tongue. ‘Alfie, Hazel, Ollie and Charlotte. That has quite a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’

The children nod enthusiastically, and Charlotte lets out a yawn in her brother’s arms, evidently very pleased with her new name.

Fitz pokes Hazel lightly in the stomach.

‘Hey, do you want to give your mum her present now?’

‘Present?’ Jemma raises one eyebrow as Hazel turns around to fish in her Dad’s jacket pocket. ‘Do I get a present?’

‘It’s not for you,’ Hazel says firmly, producing a small, squashy wrapped parcel. ‘Not _really_. It’s for Charlotte.’

‘Ah.’ Nodding her head, Jemma tries to school her features into a serious expression. ‘Of course.’

‘But you can open it for her if you like, Mummy,’ Ollie puts in, watching his twin pass her the present.

‘Thanks, Ollie. Much obliged.’

Jemma can tell that the twins have wrapped the parcel; the sellotape has been applied liberally and she can see sticky finger marks on the shiny paper. Using her fingernail, she manages to dig underneath the tape and open the present up. Once she has it open on her lap, she gasps.

‘It was my idea,’ Alfie says, peering over her shoulder, ‘and Auntie Daisy found us the pattern on the internet and the little ones helped…’

Jemma can only nod, fresh tears blurring her vision as she holds up the tiny pair of socks, knitted in rainbow wool and bulging out in certain places where the stitching had gone wrong. In spite of this, they are probably the most beautiful baby socks she has ever seen.

‘You gave us a sock when you told us she was coming,’ Alfie continues, in case it wasn’t obvious enough, ‘so we thought we should give her some socks now that she’s here.’

‘They’re perfect,’ Jemma whispers, feeling a deep warmth flood her body as she realises how much she loves her children. Reaching out her arms, she pulls first Ollie and then Hazel onto her lap and kisses the top of their heads. ‘Thank you, guys.’

At the bottom of the bed, Fitz taps at her toes underneath the blankets. When she looks up at him, Jemma sees that his face is radiant with pride.

‘Why don’t you try putting them on her?’ he suggests. ‘See whether they fit?’

The twins seem to like this idea and Jemma hands them a sock each before turning to peel away Charlotte’s blankets.

‘You have to be careful,’ Alfie admonishes his younger siblings, tightening his hold on the baby protectively and making his parents smile at him.

‘She might kick out at you,’ Jemma says, looping one arm around Hazel’s waist to pull her back. ‘So go slowly and one at a time.’

Ollie nods at her solemnly and goes first to slip his sock onto his sister’s foot. Hazel follows suit, and then they both sit back onto Jemma’s lap to admire them. Kicking out with her tiny, rainbow coloured feet, Charlotte gurgles in Alfie’s arms.

‘Do you know,’ Fitz says, shifting closer to the head of the bed, one hand resting on the top of Jemma’s thigh. ‘I reckon she likes them.’

Smiling at him affectionately, Jemma leans back against her pillows once more. The quiet, she thinks, had been lovely. But being surrounded by her family, with all their love, sticky fingers and funny little phrases, was even better.

 

 


	42. things you said you'll never forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fs + things you said you’ll never forget, with a special request for it to include twins!

 

 

‘Ah! And would you believe it, there’s a second heartbeat.’

The obstetrician turns to them with a bright smile, her eyes clearing searching their faces to gauge their reaction.

Fitz stares at the screen above her head, where various fuzzy, black and white blobs are dancing about, apparently showing him the inside of Jemma’s belly. He swallows hard, and feels her grip his hand even tighter.

‘Sorry, did you just say…there’s _two_ heartbeats?’ he asks, but even as he poses the question he hears it for himself, two slow, ethereal thumps through the monitor that unexpectedly bring tears to his eyes.

The OB nods, before glancing back at her screen. ‘That I did,’ she says, and taps two fingers against Jemma’s still-fairly-flat stomach before helping her pull down her top. ‘Looks like it’s going to get rather crowded in there over the next couple of months.’

Jemma gives a breathy laugh that might have been a gasp, and clamps her hand over her mouth. With his free hand, Fitz massages her shoulder.

‘Now, if you two will just wait here for a moment,’ the OB says, getting up from her stool, ‘I’ll go and see if I can find you some literature you might find helpful.’

As soon as she has left the room, Fitz sinks to sit on the bed at Jemma’s feet. When she looks up at him, her eyes are shining.

‘There’s two heartbeats,’ he repeats, his heart in his mouth.

Jemma nods, and she laughs again before reaching forward to grip both his hands in hers.

‘Fitz…we’re having twins.’

* * *

‘How’s it going in here?’

Jemma is standing in the doorway, her hands held loosely around her slowly expanding middle as she smiles at him. Looking at her, Fitz’s heart can’t stop itself from skipping a beat.

He gestures to the partially put together cot, standing next to a fully assembled matching one. He had bought and built the first cot the week after they’d discovered Jemma was pregnant and after the visit to the OB three weeks ago he had hastily returned to the shop for a second.

‘Almost up.’ He eyes the cots’ placement in their apartment’s small spare room and frowns. ‘You know, once we get both of them next to the window, the babies will be able to reach across and hold one another’s hands.’

Jemma laughs. ‘That would make a lovely Christmas card.’

Fitz wants to laugh with her, but a wave of uncertainty in his throat stops him as he stares at the twin cots in front of him. He hears her sigh, before resting one hand on the top of his head, using him to keep her balanced as she lowers herself onto the floor next to him.

‘You know that this doesn’t change anything, don’t you?’ she murmurs, leaning her head on his shoulder.

‘What do you mean by that?’

Jemma sighs again, and turns her head so she can look him dead in the eye.

‘There is enough love inside you,’ she says softly, ‘for the entire human race. You’ll be able to handle the two of our babies _easily_.’

Fitz does laugh then, out of relief and out of amazement at how quickly she had been able to understand exactly what was eating away at him, even before he understood it himself.

He dips his head down to kiss her and in the force of her kiss he feels the last of his doubts slip away from him.

‘Hey, Jemma?’

She links their fingers across her bump and it makes him smile. ‘Hmm?’

‘Out of the entire human race, I love you the most.’

* * *

‘And you’re sure you want to know?’

Glancing at his wife, Fitz raises his eyebrows in a silent question. Lying on the OB’s chair once more, Jemma purses her lips together and nods decisively.

‘It’s the most practical thing to do,’ she says for the hundredth time that morning. ‘This way we can start buying clothes, thinking of names…’

‘We want to know,’ Fitz tells the OB, feeling a flutter of excitement deep in his gut, as Jemma squeezes his hand tighter. ‘We want to know the sexes of the babies.’

The doctor nods, waving the ultrasound across Jemma’s bump. She points upwards at her screen.

‘Well,’ she says, shooting them a quick backward glance as her finger rests on one of the slightly more conjoined blobs, ‘this one is a boy…’ Her hand slides downwards, to the other larger blob, curved so that Fitz can just about make out the shape of a nose. ‘And this is a girl.’

‘One of each,’ Jemma whispers.

A bubble of joy rises in Fitz’s chest until he can no longer contain it. Turning to her, he cups her face in his hands and kisses her forehead, grinning the whole time.

After a second or two, she pulls him back and he sees that she is smiling just as widely as he is.

‘One of each,’ Fitz says. ‘Jemma, we have a son _and_ we have a daughter.’

* * *

‘Fitz, what are we _doing_?’

He had sensed she was having a nightmare the moment he woke and found her shaking form turned away from him. He had woken her gently and then held her in his arms as her shuddering subsided and the tears started, soaking into his t-shirt.

Stroking her hair, Fitz shakes his head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Jemma lifts her head to him, and he uses his thumb to dry her wet cheeks. He hasn’t asked what the dream was about; by this point, they know each other’s worst nightmares well enough to guess.

‘There is so much evil in this world,’ she whispers, and the pain in her voice almost breaks his heart. ‘We know that as well as anyone. What if we can’t protect our children from it?’

Swallowing hard, Fitz pulls her as close to him as he can, the largeness of her bump preventing them from being as close together as they are used to. To make up for this, he lifts her hand to his lips and kisses her fingers one by one.

‘Do you remember what you said to me that morning I was building the cot?’ he asks her.

Jemma sniffs and nods, Her expression confused. ‘Yes. But, Fitz…’

‘You said,’ he interrupts her, ‘that I had enough love inside me for the entire human race. And, Jemma, you have just as much, if not _more_ , love inside you. Our children are going to be entirely surrounded by love.’

She nods into his shoulder, and he feels her manage a small smile as she wraps her arms around his waist.

‘Now,’ Fitz murmurs, ‘there is no way for us to guarantee that the only thing they ever see is love. But we can do everything we can to make sure it’s what they see the _most_ of. Deal?’

Jemma nods again, firmer this time, and exhales shakily. ‘Deal.’ 

Rather ungainly, she pushes herself up onto one elbow so that she can kiss him properly, her lips warm and still tasting slightly of tears. Fitz kisses her back softly, one hand on her waist to keep her steady on the mattress, and can only hope that she can feel in his lips how much he means what he says.

‘I love you,’ Jemma whispers, allowing him to help guide her back down to the bed again. She touches his cheek, and smiles properly. ‘Thank you.’

‘I love you too.’ Fitz smiles back and wraps his arms around her. He kisses the top of her head and feels her relax against him once more. ‘And always.’

* * *

Over the past nine months, he and Jemma had had many conversations that Fitz knew it would be very difficult for him to forget. 

There had been moments between the two of them alone that he knew he would treasure forever, either because of something either of them had said, or the way Jemma had laughed, or the way the light had caught her bump leaving him breathless.

But, when he hears a crash from their bedroom and runs in to find Jemma leaning over a chair to support her weight, a look of shock and pain in her eyes that turns to amazement once she looks up and finds him next to her, Fitz knows that she is about to say something the two of them will remember for the rest of their lives.

‘Fitz, I think…I think it might be time.’

 

 


	43. things you said on our honeymoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fs + things you said on our honeymoon

 

 

‘Paris,’ Fitz says, ‘is a completely unsuitable destination for a honeymoon.’

Pulling a face at him, Jemma puts down her teacup. ‘How can you say that? Paris is romantic, it’s atmospheric, it’s full of light and good food…it’s even called the City of Love, for goodness sake! It ought to be the perfect place for a honeymoon.’

‘And that’s exactly my point!’ Fitz shakes his head at her and holds out his arms. ‘Jemma, look around you. How many of these couples do you think are here for their honeymoon?’

Glancing around the outdoor cafe they are sitting in, under the shade of the Eiffel Tower, Jemma notices that they are sharing the space with several other couples. Most of them are her and Fitz’s age, with rings on the third finger of their left hands, and all of them are gazing into each other’s eyes as if they are the only two people to exist. Some of the women are even perched on their partner’s laps, like she is.

‘I should imagine,’ she replies, looping her arms around Fitz’s neck, ‘that almost all of them are. But surely that only proves _my_ point, not yours?’

‘No,’ he says, bringing one hand down to hold her at her waist, ‘it proves mine. Paris _is_ completely unsuitable for a honeymoon because it’s where everyone goes. If we came here, we’d just be one of hundreds of couples who have to say they went to Paris for their honeymoon. It’s a cliche.’

Jemma snorts, before gazing up at the blossom trees lining the street and inhaling the sweet scent of pastry from the pâtisserie. They have only been in the city for a day but already she is falling in love with Paris.

‘I don’t see how a place so beautiful could ever be a cliche,’ she says softly.

When she looks back down, Fitz is smiling at her in a way that makes her want to dip her head down and kiss him. He appears to have the same idea, and their foreheads are just about to touch when their earpieces crackle and they hear Coulson clear his throat pointedly.

_‘Uh, guys? Could we have maybe 10 per cent more concentration on the mission, please?’_

They spring apart and Jemma feels herself flush as she drags her eyes off Fitz’s face. With one hand, she adjusts her horn-rimmed glasses, hoping that the camera hidden in the lenses is giving her team a clear image of their mark, sitting at a table on the other side of the cafe .

Their mission is the surveillance and potentially the extraction of a French diplomat who supported the inhuman cause. Evidence had surfaced that he was the target of a Watchdog assassination plot and their team had headed straight to Paris to stop that from happening. Going undercover as sticky-sweet honeymooners gave Fitz and Jemma the perfect opportunity to follow him wherever he went in the city.

‘So,’ Jemma says with a reluctant sigh, swinging her feet, ‘Paris is off our honeymoon list, then. Do you have a better idea?’

Fitz hesitates before nodding, his hair tickling the sensitive skin underneath her chin. ‘Actually…I was thinking about Venice.’

_‘He’s on the move! Heading east on foot.’_

The sound of Daisy’s voice in their ears makes them both jump and Jemma leaps to her feet, brushing down the full skirt of her floral dress, whilst Fitz hastily tucks several euro notes underneath the teapot. Hand in hand, they leave the cafe and follow the diplomat down the street, staying several paces back and on the opposite pavement.

‘You’d hate Venice,’ Jemma murmurs, wrapping one arm around Fitz’s waist.

He drapes his arm around her shoulders in response. ‘What? Have you been before?’

‘Mmm.’ She nods, making sure her eyes (and her glasses) don’t leave the diplomat’s back. ‘I went with Mum and Dad when I was twelve. It’s much more crowded than Paris, _and_ you have to travel everywhere by boat.’

‘Oh.’ Her fiance, inclined as he is to seasickness, sounds disappointed. As they pass a security camera, he buries his face in her hair and kisses the top of her head and Jemma doesn’t have to put any effort into making sure her  smile looks convincing for the camera. ‘So, not Venice either then.’

She pats Fitz’s hand comfortingly. ‘We’ll think of somewhere.’

They follow the diplomat to the Champ de Mars, where he strolls along a path. It is a warm spring day and the park is heaving, which makes Jemma slightly apprehensive. It was far more likely for an attack to take place somewhere like this as opposed to a quiet cafe in a side street.

Eventually, the diplomat settles on a bench and takes out a newspaper. Fitz and Jemma choose a bench in full view of him and sit down on it together. Tucking her feet up on the wooden slats, Jemma rests her head on Fitz’s shoulder and he takes her hand in his to rest it on his knee. Turning her fingers over, he exposes their undercover personas’ wedding rings. Even though she knows them to be fake, slipping hers on that morning had made a shiver of excitement run down Jemma’s spine. 

She smiles at him. ‘Admiring Lucille and Jacques Arnaud’s wedding rings?’

‘Oh, are _those_ our names?’ She can feel him grinning as he kisses her temple. As if he had expected her to go undercover without naming their characters! ‘What do you think of the rings? Do you like them?’

Taking another quick look at the diplomat, munching on a pain au chocolat as he reads his paper, Jemma flicks her gaze down to their joined hands. The Arnaud’s rings are gold, and set with two diamonds and an amethyst each. She scrunches up her nose and brushes her fingers over the stones.

‘They’re beautiful, but maybe a little ostentatious,’ she admits.

Fitz nods in agreement, as if this had been what he thought all along. ‘I’ll keep something a bit more low key in mind when I make ours, then,’ he murmurs, running his index finger up and down the curve of her hip.

 _‘Oh my God,’_ Daisy moans in their ears,  _‘you two do realise you’re not actually on your honeymoon, right? And that we can hear everything you’re saying?’_

 _‘If you’re trying to pull the broken comms trick again,’_ they hear Mack grumble, _‘you forgot the part where you actually turn off your comms.’  
_

Smiling, Jemma nestles further into Fitz’s side and her hand that isn’t holding his comes up to touch at the base of her neck. She had had to take her own engagement ring off this morning, for obvious reasons, but hadn’t wanted to leave it on the Zephyr. As a compromise, she had hung it on a chain around her neck so she still had it with her but even now she is missing the feel of it on her finger. She can’t wait until she can slip it on again, back to where it belongs.

‘Daisy’s just reminded me,’ Fitz says with a smirk and a raised voice that makes Jemma think he is saying this purely to piss their friend off, ‘any more ideas for honeymoon destinations?’

She shrugs, playing along as she directs her glasses’ camera back to the diplomat. ‘Ooh, what about Hawaii?’

Fitz groans. ‘Don’t tell me, they have even more species of fish than the Seychelles does.’

‘I wasn’t even thinking about fish!’ Jemma protests. ‘It was the _volcanoes_ I was thinking of. Hawaii has a fascinating seamount chain and to see it in person would be…’

She breaks off as, with a sudden, smooth movement, Fitz kisses her properly, his hands caressing the back of her neck. Surprised, she only has the opportunity to kiss him back for a moment before he pulls away and clears his throat.

‘The man on the bench behind you was looking at us,’ he murmurs. ‘I had to make us look less suspicious.’

Jemma smiles, feeling a deep warmth flood her chest, even as through their comms Daisy mutters,  _‘yeah, well, the next time you feel the need to protect your undercover identities give me some warning so I can shut my eyes beforehand, okay?’_

‘What about you?’ she asks, as Fitz bugs his eyes out at Daisy through her glasses. ‘Where do you think we should go?’

He tips his head towards her hopefully. ‘Vegas?’

‘Leopold Fitz, if you think we’re going to _Las Vegas_ , of all places, for our honeymoon then you can think again.’

He opens his mouth, as if to protest, but Coulson interrupts them.

_‘Guys, you’ve got an incoming! A Watchdog is approaching the target, and fast!’_

Suddenly, they are both on their feet, and Fitz is reaching inside his jacket for the Icer hidden there.

‘Remember the plan?’ he asks her, as they stride across the green towards the unsuspecting diplomat.

‘How could I forget?’

With one last encouraging touch to her back, Fitz steps to one side as Jemma continues towards the diplomat’s bench. Behind him, the Watchdog appears with his gun cocked, but before he has the chance to fire Fitz shoots first.

He misses, but the park erupts into screams anyway, as the Watchdog turns tail and starts to run back the way he has come. Watching Fitz give chase, Jemma hurries towards the diplomat, flashing her SHIELD badge in his astonished face and explaining the situation in hurried, practised French. Once she has assured him he is now safe, she takes off the way Fitz and the Watchdog had gone, curving around the trees lining the path as she does so.

She must have cut a corner; as she hops off the grass, she sees them both running down the path, the crowds scattering in their wake. Aligning herself next to a group of young women about to run, Jemma grits her teeth and sticks out her foot in its high heeled sandal.

Partially hidden, the Watchdog doesn’t see her as he turns his head to shoot at Fitz once more. He trips over her leg and goes skidding across the gravel, losing his grip on his gun as he does so. Scrabbling for it before he can, Jemma picks it up and points it at him, just as Fitz arrives next to her, his eyes shining with pride.

‘Paris,’ he says, once the Watchdog has been marched away by Daisy and Mack, leaving the two of them standing alone on the path.

Dusting down her dress, Jemma rolls her eyes. ‘Yes, Fitz. We are indeed in Paris, as we have been for several hours now.’

‘ _No_ …’ He takes her hand, forcing her to look up at him. ‘I mean, lets go to Paris for our honeymoon. You love it here and we’ve only seen a fraction of the city today. Let’s come back and experience it all over again.’

Jemma’s eyes widen, and she steps closer to him, her fingers teasing at the front of his jacket. ‘Do you really mean that? Aren’t you afraid of being a cliche?’

Fitz shakes his head, taking the last step towards her so that they are standing chest to chest. ‘Jemma,’ he says, ‘I will be every cliche in the book if it makes you happy.’

She can’t help but smile at that, and how much she cannot wait to be married to him.

‘In that case,’ she whispers, ‘you should know that it makes me _very_ happy.’

This time, Jemma remembers to slip off her spy glasses before winding her arms around Fitz’s neck and kissing him underneath the shade of the Eiffel Tower and surrounded by blossom trees, feeling for all the world  like she is living the most perfect cliche of all.

 

 


	44. amelié au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: an fs au based on the film amelié!

 

 

It had begun the way these sorts of things often begin, with a perfume bottle-stopper uncovering an old bonbon box hidden behind a wall tile in a bathroom.

This, in turn, had quite naturally led to the reconciliation of the box with its former owner, before escorting a blind man down to the metro station and kidnapping a garden gnome, who later developed a partiality for travelling.

From there, it had, of course, escalated to matchmaking, forgery, breaking and entering, visits to every photo booth in Paris and falling in love with the young man with the blue eyes who collected up the discarded photographs left underneath the booths and stuck them back together again.

And it was all those things, added up one on top of the other like a stack of cards, which had led Jemma to where she was, here and now, with her ear pressed up to her front door. Her hands are still covered in flour from her dough, and her eyelashes are still wet with tears, tears that had quickly been blinked away the way that tears are when a knocks comes at the door.

Slowly, Jemma raises one hand to rest it on the wood, where she knows on the other side is Fitz.

‘Jemma?’

He says her name again, and already it sounds so familiar to him that it makes her heart skip a beat inside her chest.

‘Jemma, please, I know you’re inside. Can we talk?’

She waits, gnawing at her bottom lip, as the image of him and Daisy wandering down the pavement together, heads bent, deep in conversation, flashes across her mind.

After a moment, she hears him sigh, followed by a ripping sound and the scratch of a pen so close to her ear that it makes her pull her head away from the wood in alarm. Suddenly, a scrap of paper is pushed underneath the door by her feet. Bending down to pick it up, Jemma reads the words written on it in round, looped writing: _I’ll come back_.

Behind the door, she hears Fitz’s footsteps fall away as he climbs slowly back down the stairs.

Hardly daring to breathe, Jemma stands stock still with his piece of paper held loosely in her hands, until the sound of his footsteps on the floorboards dies away. Then, she flies across the room to the window to watch as he leaves her building.

The front door bangs, and Fitz steps out into the street with his head bowed and his hands in his pockets. The way he is walking, his shoulders slumped and his back curved, reminds Jemma of the first time she had seen him at the train station, bent over the photo booth with the torn shreds of paper in his hands. She had wanted to run her fingers down the length of his back even then.

On the street below, Fitz looks up, his eyes going straight to her window. Quickly, Jemma stumbles backwards, letting her curtain fall where she had previously been peeking out even though there was no question of him having seen her.

Resting one hand on the wall to steady herself, she sinks down to the ground and brings her knees up to her chest. She balances Fitz’s note on her knees and stares at the paper as it flutters gently with every breathe she takes.

Alone on the floor, Jemma finds herself thinking. The last few months, months she had spent secretly trying to improve the lives of those around her, had been the most fun she had ever had. After a lifetime spent living on the outside, she had finally had a taste of what it felt like to be a part of people’s lives, what it felt like to make them even better. And Jemma had to admit to herself that it had felt wonderful.

On her knees, Fitz’s note slips and she grabs for it before it can fall and holds on tight.

What if, Jemma wonders, allowing someone else to be a part of _her_ life would do the same thing for her?

If there was ever a time to find out, it was now.

With the note still clutched between her fingers, Jemma unfolds her legs and stands up. Making her way back to the window, she brushes the curtain back until she can see the street below. On the pavement where Fitz had been standing, there is now only empty space.

Jemma feels as though her heart has plummeted to her stomach. The note slips through her fingers as she spins around, running across the room to unlock the door. She fumbles with the locks for a moment before flinging it wide open and taking half a step out into the hallway, only to run right into Fitz’s chest.

She sucks in a breath at the exact same moment he does, and his hands come up to her elbows to steady her. It looks as though he had been just about to knock for her again.

Swallowing hard, Jemma smiles up at him.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’ Fitz smiles back, a little bit shyly, before letting his hands fall back to his sides. Almost immediately, Jemma wishes he would put them back.

‘It’s, uh, good to see you again.’ He gives her another smile, almost relieved this time. ‘Actually, it’s really, _really_ good to see you again.’

Looking at him in front of her, with a faint blush and an endearing eagerness to his face, Jemma feels a warmth spark inside her chest.

‘How did you-?’

‘Daisy told me,’ he says, rubbing the back of his neck ruefully, ‘after she’d finished vetting me for you. She walked me to the end of your road and pointed up to your window.’

This time, it is Jemma’s turn to blush. ‘Daisy _vetted_ you for me?’

‘Yeah.’ Fitz grins. ‘I guess she just wanted to see whether I’d be good for you or not.’

‘Oh?’ Jemma takes a step closer to him, allowing her fingertips to brush against his jacket. It might just have been her imagination, but she thinks she feels him shiver. ‘And what was her verdict?’

Fitz shrugs. She is so close to him now that she can see that the eyes she found so blue have flecks of green hidden in them, and she wonders what else about him she is about to discover. ‘As much as I value having her approval, I’d much rather find out what _you_ think about it.’

Jemma smiles and brings one hand up to his neck. Slowly, carefully, she lifts herself up onto her tiptoes to kiss him on the forehead. He is softer there than she thought he might be, and his skin has a heady scent to it that makes her feel a little giddy.

When she lowers herself back down, she sees that he has closed his eyes.

Moving forward, Jemma places a kiss to Fitz’s closed eyelid, and then to his cheek, and then, slipping her hand down to rest on his chest, to his neck. Underneath her touch, she can feel his heart hammering.

This time when she pulls back, he opens his eyes and lets his forehead drop to rest against hers. He studies her, as though he can’t quite decide which part of her he wants to explore first, before bending forward to kiss her very gently on the tip of her nose.

The sensation, coupled with the bubbling excitement in her gut, makes Jemma giggle, which in turn makes Fitz laugh. With one hand on her waist, he kisses her on the lips at last and in that moment it feels like a whole other world has been opened up.

Jemma kisses him back, feeling their lips fall into a pattern like raindrops quickening on a windowsill and their hands start to move against each other a little too wildly for a public stairwell. Lifting up her arms to loop them around his neck, she steps backwards, inviting him in with a press of her lips to his. Fitz accepts, moving one hand to the small of her back while the other threads its fingers through her hair.

They tumble backwards into her flat together, shoes already kicked off and buttons being undone with clumsy fingers, and in that moment Jemma doesn’t think she has ever been so grateful for a loose wall tile and a perfume bottle-stopper that had helped her uncover a life she hadn’t known she could have.

 

 


	45. romo pod scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: canon divergence of the pod scene where things get romantic

 

 

‘It’s fitting that we’re down here together, Fitz.’

She’s right, in a way. 

When he thinks about how many people there are in the world, it makes sense that the person sitting beside him when he is about to die is his best friend, the girl who has allowed her name to be attached to his for the last ten years. In fact, when faced with his own mortality the way he is now, Fitz cannot imagine wanting to have anybody else beside him when he dies.

But this is, of course, a double edged sword because having her with him now means that she is going to die too. 

And Fitz can’t think of anything less fitting than Jemma Simmons dying in a medical pod at the bottom of the ocean.

She is staring out of the window, something he hasn’t had the stomach to do since he woke up. The miles of blue slowly fading to black in front of him had turned his stomach, but it seems to fascinate Jemma. 

As she turns her head, the emergency lights above them reflect off her face, casting her in a somewhat ethereal glow as though it is the moon outside the window and not the ocean.

‘This is where all life began, on our planet anyway,’ she says, and the look of breathless awe on her face makes Fitz’s heart ache.

He licks his lips, inhaling slightly as the blood starts to pound in his temples and he twitches his wrist.

‘Right outside…’ 

He can hear Jemma’s voice continue speaking, becoming thick with tears, but he can barely comprehend what she is saying, the words he is preparing to say so filling his mind. 

‘…that glass…’

‘Jemma,’ he begins, and her name in itself is both a plea and a confession all at once.

But he stops when he notices that he no longer has her attention.

Jemma’s back has straightened and she has blinked away her tears as she puts her hands up to the window of the pod, her fingertips skimming the seal.

‘What?’ he asks, practically hearing her mind start to think.

‘The glass.’ Fitz can see the reflection of her eyes in the window, darting back and forth. She turns to him, suddenly urgent. ‘Fitz, the _glass_!’

He glances from her to the window, trying to catch up with her thinking whilst pushing back his own tears. ‘Yeah, it’s bulletproof, pressure resistant…’

‘But the seal is  4-hydroxy-4-methyl-2-pentanone-!’

Screwing his eyes tight, Fitz frowns. ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he admits, ‘but the flash point is too high for it to burn.’

Undeterred, Jemma shakes her head. ‘But medical ethanol has a low flash point and it burns-’

‘Water,’ Fitz finishes for her. 

He sucks in a breath, as what she is telling him sinks in with such astounding clarity that he can almost see the window giving way in his mind’s eye. Jemma’s voice had always had that effect on him.

‘We could use the defibrillator as an ignition source,’ he adds, using his good arm to push himself towards her. Underneath his shirt, his heart is hammering with adrenaline.

‘And build a compressed explosive-’ 

Jemma follows his meaning instantly, shifting forward too. Her eyes are wide and bright, and in his sudden haze of hope, Fitz doesn’t think they have ever looked so beautiful.

‘-to ignite the seal, and the outside pressure will-’

‘-blow the window in!’ they finish together.

Somehow, during their revelations, they have gotten to their feet and moved closer together, so that they are standing toe to toe on the pod floor. Jemma’s face is right in front of him, close enough for Fitz to see the graze on her temple, her loose wisps of hair and the overwhelming elation written across her face.

She laughs, and that alone would have been enough to make him feel giddy, but before he has a chance to laugh himself, Jemma has surged forward. With her hands on either side of his face, she kisses him and Fitz thinks that the world itself might cease to spin.

Jemma’s fingers on his cheeks are ice-cold, and so is the tip of her nose as it brushes against his own, but her lips are warm and taste slightly salty.

Unconsciously, Fitz’s hand moves to her waist and his forehead tips towards hers, just having time to brush against her skin before she draws back with a soft gasp, as if only just realising what she has done.

When she opens her eyes again, she stares at him. Fitz hardly dares breathe as she studies his face, the ball of her thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone. She rubs her lips together gingerly, as though she is tasting him, and then she smiles.

Fitz can’t help himself. He bends down to her, his lips catching her own in a kiss as his free hand slips to cradle the back of her neck, tipping her head backwards.

Jemma kisses him back eagerly, her own hands sliding from his face to his shoulders, as her tongue presses against his own in a way that sends delicious shivers running down Fitz’s spine.

 She is taking extra care to avoid his injured arm, but this careful tenderness only makes him want to kiss her more. Twisting his hand upwards into the hair underneath her ponytail, he sucks, lightly, at her bottom lip, and feels his gut twist when she gives a startled, delighted moan.

Fitz is just thinking how utterly _dizzying_ it is to kiss his best friend when the world gives out beneath his feet. At first, he absently thinks that the earth’s crust must be splitting in two, but when Jemma’s full weight falls against him and his fractured arm, sending a renewed flare of pain through his body, he realises that he has just lost his balance.

‘Aah!’

He falls against a storage box and inhales sharply. Jemma had taken the care to twist her body as she fell after him so that she didn’t land on him, goes sprawling, half on the floor and half on his lap. She sits up almost immediately, and scrambles back to him.

Her eyes are bright, both with concern and with something completely new.

‘Fitz?’ Her hands hover uncertainly above him and he can only stare at her. ‘Are you alright?’

Just moments ago, he had thought she looked like the moon, pale and reflected and beautiful in the pod window. But now, with her in front of him and the burning impression of her kiss on his lips and the warmth of her touch still marked on his skin, Fitz can’t think of her as being anything other than the sun.

‘Yeah.’ He grins up at her, and reaches out to brush his fingers against her hairline. ‘Yeah, I’m okay.’

He sees Jemma exhale with relief and a smile flashes across her face.

‘Good.’ She clears her throat and sits back on her heels, tucking her hair back behind her ears almost shyly. Just seeing her do that makes Fitz want to pull her back to him. ‘Well, we’ve got more than one piece of the puzzle together. You just sit there for a moment, and then we’ll see if we can figure out another…’

As she steps past him to examine their sparse supplies, her fingers touch his shoulder lightly.

Fitz takes in a deep breath, his heart thudding and his lips still holding the trace of a smile. That smiles quickly fades however, as he finds himself staring at the oxygen canister in front of him and he does the maths.

Like a stone, his heart sinks to the pit of his stomach.

Behind him, he can hear Jemma moving about, clattering the defibrillator around busily and mumbling to herself. Fitz remembers how she had looked at him before he had kissed her, like the touch of his lips had suddenly allowed her to see colour for the first time, and how beautiful she had looked in that moment.

With a shaking hand, he reaches out and turns the canister around so its label is facing away from them, in case Jemma should glance at it and do the maths herself. Then, blinking back his tears, he gets to his feet and turns to help her, a new found determination rising in his chest.

It is fitting, he thinks to himself, that they are down here together after all. It has given him the chance to save her life.

 

 


	46. the solar system mobile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fluffy fs family/baby fic

 

 

The sound of the front door closing so surprises Jemma that she almost topples over. Balanced as precariously as she is on the step stool over the crib whilst eight months pregnant, this would have been very inconvenient indeed.

And speaking of inconvenient, her husband wasn’t supposed to be home for another thirty minutes at least.

‘Hello? Anybody home?’

Twisting her lip as she strains over the cot’s wooden railings, Jemma desperately tries to think how she could stall him from entering the nursery just yet. As she glances across the room, her eyes fall on her four-year-old son, sitting cross legged on the floor lining up stuffed animals. She grins.

‘Did you hear that, Alfie? Who’s home?’

Alfie’s head snaps in the direction of the door, his mouth frozen in a startled _o_ shape for a moment before jumping to his feet and hurtling out of the room. Pursing her lips together to keep herself from laughing, Jemma stretches just a little bit higher, so her fingers are just brushing the ceiling, straining to listen to what is happening in the hallway.

‘ _Daddy_!’

There is a grunt, followed by a child’s giggle, and she imagines Alfle barrelling into Fitz’s knees so hard he almost brings them both tumbling to the ground.

‘Hey, little man!’ Fitz sounds slightly winded, but even this cannot hide the happiness in his voice, or his relief at coming home. ‘Good day?’

‘Uh huh. Mummy and I made cakes and she let me lick the bowl out.’

‘Did she? She’s never let _me_ lick the bowl out.’

Jemma hears a shriek, and then more giggling, and the image in her mind of Fitz poking Alfie’s tummy before swinging him up into his arms is so clear that she can’t help smiling.

‘Hey, speaking of Mum, Alfie, where is she? I would have thought she’d come out to say hello…’

The smiles slips off Jemma’s face and she feels a shot of alarm run through her and her hands start to fumble faster. _Stall him_ , Alfie, she silently wills her son. _Stall him just a little bit longer_.

‘She’s in the baby’s room,’ she hears Alfie chirp, his ears apparently completely closed to her telepathic pleading. From the sound of their voices, they are right outside the nursery. ‘Daddy, wait until you see what we’ve _made_ …’

Behind her, the door is pushed open and Jemma groans inwardly.

‘Hello, darling,’ she says, wondering whether the brightness in her tone might distract him from what she is doing. ‘You’re home early. Was everything alright at the base?’

She holds her breath, as though that might actually have worked even though she knows him far better than that.

‘Jemma,’ Fitz says. ‘What exactly are you doing?’

With a reluctant sigh, Jemma lowers her arms and turns carefully on the stool  to hold out the hammer and small hook she is holding in her hands.

‘I’m trying to put this hook in the ceiling,’ she explains. Fitz crosses the room to her, and takes the hammer with one hand. His other hand goes to her waist, warm and steadying. ‘But I’m not quite tall enough to reach, I’m afraid.’

Fitz looks up at her, his head tilted to one side, but his expression isn’t quite despairing, there is too much love there for it to be that.

‘Come on down, then,’ he says, pressing his palm into her side. ‘And let me see if I can reach it.’

She doesn’t really need him to help her down and they both know that, but when Fitz drops the hammer and holds out his hand to her Jemma takes it anyway. Once she is back on solid ground, she tugs him forward by the wrist to kiss him, gently.

When she pulls back, Fitz is grinning.

‘So, what’s this hook for?’ he asks, picking it up from her open palm.

Jemma raises her eyebrows to Alfie, who hurries into the kitchen and comes back with a mobile made of plywood sticks glued together. Dangling from its arms are the nine planets, made from various sized polystyrene balls and painted using Alfie’s paint set. He hands it to Fitz, who takes it carefully, as though it is something very precious.

‘It’s for the baby,’ he explains. ‘For them to look at before they go to sleep.’

‘Alfie did all the painting,’ Jemma adds proudly, watching Fitz  touch each planet one by one. She ruffles her son’s hair as he leans against her. ‘And we looked up what they all look like, didn’t we? So they would be accurate.’

Alfie nods, but he is staring up at Fitz as he does so.

‘Do you like it, Daddy?’

‘I love it,’ Fitz says softly, crouching down so he is on his son’s level. He reaches out, and chucks him under the chin. ‘It’s amazing, Alfie. I’m sure the baby will love it too.’

Alfie puffs out his chest at this which makes Jemma smile. 

Pressing her hands into the small of her back, she winces slightly as she tries to relieve the ache there. She tries to do it subtly, but the movement catches Fitz’s eye and he glances up at her, concern flickering across his face.

‘Hey, Alfie,’ he says slyly. ‘I bet you a bowl of ice cream that you can’t get your mum to sit down for ten minutes.’

Alfie’s eyes light up at the challenge, and Jemma shoots Fitz a withering look over his head as their son takes a hold of her hand. He winks at her in reply.

‘Mummy, you have to sit down,’ Alfie insists, tugging her over to the armchair in the corner of the room.

‘Do I, darling?’ Jemma says with a sigh, allowing herself to be pulled. ‘And why is that, may I ask?’

‘Because I want ice cream.’

Fitz laughs aloud, and Jemma rolls her eyes as she sinks into the forgiving cushions of the armchair. 

Although she would never have given her husband the satisfaction of knowing he was right, it really is a relief to sit down. Her second pregnancy has been a lot harder than her first with Alfie. She has had problems with her blood sugar, and with fatigue, and it is only very recently that she has stopped feeling queasy in the mornings.

 _He spoilt me_ , she had complained to Fitz a couple of weeks ago, as they had been lying in bed together. He had chuckled, and leant over to kiss her neck, before unbuttoning her pyjama top and planting a string of kisses down her skin until his lips reached the swelling curve of her belly.

You _spoil me_.

Alfie disappears into the kitchen to find his ice cream and Jemma leans back to watch as Fitz climbs the step stool to hammer the hook into the ceiling. Once he has, he lifts the mobile up to hang it, making sure that it doesn’t fall lopsided. Satisfied, he jumps off the stool and turns to her triumphantly. 

‘There! How does it look?’

‘Perfect,’ Jemma murmurs, gazing at the cot, with its new astronomical mobile hanging above it, and her husband unrolling his sleeves beside it. ‘Absolutely perfect.’

Fitz grins, and crosses the room to sit on the arm of the chair next to her. He takes her hand from her lap and lifts it to his lips, kissing each of her fingers in turn. Smiling, Jemma lets her head fall until it is resting against his arm.

‘Oh!’ Remembering something, she sits up straight again. ‘I almost forgot…’

Fitz frowns, twisting around to look at her. ‘Forgot what?’

Shaking her head, Jemma reaches into her back pocket. What she pulls out is a small cardboard circle painted yellow, with cut out orange paper attached all the way around, dangling from a string. 

On one side of the circle, she has stuck a photograph. It is of Fitz and Alfie, on the day they had told him he was going to become a big brother. Alfie is holding the ultrasound pictures in his hands, and Fitz is smiling up at the camera, at her taking the picture. By the look in his eyes, you’d think he’d won the lottery.

‘It’s the sun,’ Jemma says quietly, holding the decoration up so that it spins between her fingers. ‘I wanted it to hang in the middle of the mobile, so that the baby knows exactly who is at the centre of my universe.’

‘Well, at the centre of your solar system, if you want to be accurate about your astronomical metaphors,’ Fitz observes, which just makes Jemma roll her eyes.

‘Urgh, _Fitz_ -’

She is cut off from what she was about to say as Fitz makes a small noise that might have been a laugh, and he bends forward to catch her lips with his. He kisses her, softly, but with such a deep, tender passion that it makes Jemma’s heart flip over inside her chest. 

When he pulls back, his thumb caresses the corner of her mouth.

‘I love you,’ he murmurs.

Smiling, Jemma crosses the short distance between them to kiss the tip of his nose. ‘And I love you.’

Fitz takes the sun from her and threads the string through his fingers. ‘Once the baby’s born,’ he says, ‘I want a picture of the three of you together, to stick on the other side of this.’

‘Oh, do you?’ Jemma feels a warmth bloom in her chest, and she leans over to rest her cheek on his knee. ‘Why?’

‘Why do you think?’

Behind her, Fitz bends forward, sweeping her hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ear. He kisses the top of her head, and his hand slides down to link his fingers with hers, resting on top of her baby bump.

‘So that the baby knows exactly who is at the centre of my solar system, too.’

 

 


	47. romo pod part ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a follow up to chapter forty five

 

 

Shaking her head, Jemma gives a sigh, her mind only half focused on what Fitz is saying behind her. 

From the corner of her eye, she can see his hands twisting together and his right leg bouncing restlessly against the floor. As she tries to run the last of the diagnostic checks on the looming, black monolith in front of her, it is mildly distracting.

‘No, I don’t!’ she says, blinking up at the alien artefact as she speaks. ‘You keep rambling on and on, and I still don’t know what you mean…’

‘Dinner,’ Fitz repeats, lifting his hands up to emphasise the word even harder than his voice already had.

Jemma almost wants to laugh at that - however much everything else might be changing, one thing that she could always rely on was her best friend’s unfailing appetite.

‘Fast approaching, yes, and we’ll eat it, I’m sure,’ she says, tapping harder at the machine in the hope that it would encourage it to carry out her tests faster.

‘Yeah, no, no, no, but…’

She hears Fitz suck in a shaky breath.

‘Me _and_ you…’

The way he says the words sends a wave of heat rushing through Jemma’s body, and she looks up at him in surprise. Fitz is watching her reaction carefully, his eyes wide and full of hope.

‘Maybe,’ he continues, ‘we could eat somewhere else.’

Inside her chest, Jemma’s heart is starting to thump as she tries to make sense of what he is asking her. Somewhere else? Did he mean somewhere else on the base, or was he…

‘You know.’ 

Slowly, as if trying to be casual but still slightly too self-conscious to actually be casual, Fitz lifts one arm up to lean against the monolith’s glass case. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off her, and Jemma watches as he licks his lips.

The gesture makes her cheeks feel overly warm, and she directs her eyes back down to the machinery in her hands to distract herself.

‘Somewhere…nice.’

Jemma’s breath catches in her throat, and her hands still on the scanner in front of her.

 _Oh_.

In the week since their achingly raw conversation in the locker room, a conversation in which she had brought up their kiss at the bottom of the ocean for the very first time and a conversation that had very nearly ended up with another kiss, neither of them had found the time to talk about what was going on with…well, _them_.

They had talked about other things, certainly. There had been long, frank discussions in one or other of their bunks, that sometimes went on until the early hours of the morning and often ended with them falling asleep on each other’s beds. They had talked about her time in Hydra, his time alone in the lab, and about both their journeys to recovery. They had talked about the last few months as well, and, curled up against him on her bed, Jemma had finally allowed herself to cry about it all with the one person who never failed to comfort her.

Tucked against Fitz’s shoulder and feeling his thumb rub her back in small, comforting circles, it had felt like finally coming home.

But, however cathartic these conversations were, they were also exhausting, and left little room to talk about anything else during the night. The days were filled too, dealing with the fallout from the battle at Afterlife and on the warship, and helping pull back the scattered threads of SHIELD to the mismatched tapestry that was their team.

Between all of that, then, there hadn’t been a lot of time left to talk about what they wanted to come next between them. Now though, it seems as if Fitz has gotten tired of waiting for there to be time, and is finding it for himself.

Taking a deep breath, Jemma looks up at him and is unable to stop a wavering smile from lifting the corners of her lips.

‘Oh,’ is all she can think to say.

She is saved from having to say more by the door catch that Fitz is leaning on sliding out from underneath him. He staggers, and almost falls backwards, before quickly righting himself and hooking his finger against the catch. His expression is so comic that Jemma presses her lips together to stop herself from laughing, but even this isn’t enough to stop the wide grin that is spreading across her face.

 _This_ , she thinks to herself as a small thrill runs down her spine, _is a date_.

‘Good,’ Fitz says, letting go of the door and stepping back. He isn’t looking directly at her now, but Jemma can see the light in his face even so. ‘Okay, right, well, you should come and find me when you’re finished here, and I’ll start working on options to run by you for that.’

He turns away from her, his hands planted on his hips and a dazed half-smile on his face, before she has a chance to nod her agreement. Watching him move towards the door, Jemma feels something inside her pull, and she hesitates.

Fitz had held out his hand to her, in exactly the same way as she had to him in the locker room, and he had trusted her not to let him fall. And that, Jemma thinks determinedly, is the last thing she ever wants to do.

Hastily placing the scanner on the floor, she takes first one step, and then another towards him.

‘Fitz, wait-’

She reaches out a hand to touch his arm, wanting to turn him back towards her, but before she can Fitz spins around. His eyes meet hers, fleetingly, as his hand comes up to cup her cheek and Jemma lets her eyelids flicker shut as he leans down to kiss her.

This kiss is far gentler than their ones in the pod had been, their lips moving slower and steadier, and tasting far less of salt. It feels familiar, and yet it is something brand new at the same time.

Jemma feels her heart skip a beat as Fitz moves to deepen the kiss, the hand on her cheek threading backwards into her hair. His other hand is on her waist, pressing the slippery fabric of her shirt against her skin so that she can feel the warmth of his fingertips against her middle. She brings her own hands up to circle the back of his neck, her body arching forward as Fitz kisses her again, so that there is no space left between them.

The smile creeps onto Jemma’s lips as she matches his pace, giving kiss after kiss to the lips she knows she must be rubbing raw. The way Fitz is holding her, as though he cannot bear to let her go, tells her that he is hardly about to mind.

 _Here I am_ , she tells him, with a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

 _Here we are_ , he replies, as his arm slides across her back, keeping her upright as her legs start to give way beneath her.

It feels like a very long time before they pull apart, and even then, _pull_ is not the right word. Jemma feels that they _sigh_ apart more than anything else, each of them needing to suck in a breath but neither of them willing to be the first to break away. In the end, they do it together.

For a moment, nothing happens. Both of their chests are heaving, fingers shaking, and there is a ringing in Jemma’s ears as she inhales. There is a lightness in her chest, a joy that she thinks might lift her into the air if Fitz was not still holding onto her hand, his fingers curled around hers as though they are something precious.

When she looks up at him, his eyes are shining.

‘So, uh…’ He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘About tonight?’

A rush of excitement fills Jemma’s veins, and she smiles. ‘Give me five minutes to finish up here, and then I’ll come and find you.’

‘Five minutes?’

She nods, and Fitz nods back, his face flushed with relief.

‘I’ll hold you to that, you know.’

‘I know you will,’ Jemma says softly, almost too quietly for him to hear. But he does, and he smiles back at her as he steps away.

‘See you in a minute, Simmons.’

The door clicks shut behind him.

Jemma turns back to pick her tablet up once more, willing the diagnostic checks to run even faster. Her ears are still humming slightly, as though she is drunk on the feel of Fitz’s kiss.

It’s quite unfortunate, actually, because it means that she doesn’t hear the monolith case start to groan, as if even the slightest nudge could send its contains spilling out.

 

 


	48. nobody remembers the framework but jemma and daisy au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a post-framework au where everyone put into the framework by aida remembers nothing about it but jemma and daisy do. the zephyr team manage to get to the submarine before the others wake up.

 

 

The last thing Fitz knows before the world turns black is the feel of something sharp and cold and painful sinking into the soft skin at the back of his neck, pressing hard until whatever it is inside inside the vial has been fully injected into his bloodstream.

A flush of alarm runs down his spine, and he tries to lift his hand up to his neck, tries to turn around to confront his attacker, but already his arms feel like lead, too heavy for him to move, and his legs start to sink underneath him.

Against his will, his panic quickly subsides to an overwhelming sense of exhaustion, and Fitz feels his eyelids start to droop. His mouth twitches, as if his lips are remembering the shape of the last words he had spoken to Jemma, just moments before.

 _Be careful_.

As he sinks to his knees, the room spins around him.

And then, nothing.

He doesn’t come back to the world all at once; it is slow, like waking up after a deep sleep and being unwilling to open your eyes to the rising sun. He is first aware of noises, faint and far away, and then colours dancing across his closed eyelids. 

Maybe, somewhere, someone calls his name.

His hand twitches, and somebody takes a hold of his wrist.

‘Fitz!’

It is only then that he gasps, shuddering awake, and stumbles forward. His limbs still feel heavy, too long and too awkward for his body, and although someone tries to catch him and hold him up he is falling too fast and suddenly he is on the floor.

Opening his mouth, Fitz inhales deeply, the fear that he hadn’t had the time to feel before he was knocked out sweeping through his body, making his hands shake and his heart thump.

He tips his head back and breathes out, breathing the fear out, and when he feels someone touch his cheek with cool fingers, he opens his eyes.

Momentarily, the bright light blinds him, but as he blinks the shapes in front of him shift until it is Jemma kneeling in front of him; Jemma, safe and whole and holding him tight.

He manages to give her what he hopes is a smile, however small it might be, and he watches as her face crumbles. She gives a sob but, even as the tears start to run down her face, he sees her smile back at him.

She leans forward, the hand on his cheek slipping down to cup his chin in her palm, and Fitz closes his eyes again as Jemma starts to pepper his face with kisses.

They are not careful kisses; they are messy kisses, wet kisses that leave salty impressions of her lips across his skin. She kisses his cheeks, his jawline and his temple purposefully, growing gentler over the bridge of his nose and his closed eyelids. Her lips even graze the corners of his mouth before she sniffs hard and presses her forehead to his cheek, now wet with her tears.

It is a hauntingly familiar display of affection, although this time Fitz can feel relief seeping from her skin into his, rather than leaving him with a stain of despair.

He feels a lump rise in the back of his throat as Jemma winds her arms around his neck, and it takes all the strength he can muster to lift his own arm to encircle her back.

‘Wow,’ he manages to croak, grateful that she is close enough for him to be able to whisper in her ear. ‘Is this how we’re going to greet each other when we’ve been apart for more than ten minutes from now on, then?’

He hears Jemma laugh at that - or at least, he thinks she laughs. Pressed as she is into his shoulder, it is difficult to tell whether she is laughing or crying.

Her hands leave his neck and she sinks back onto her heels in front of him, allowing Fitz to see where they are for the first time. Over her shoulder, he can see Daisy, one of her eyes blackened, sitting with Coulson and May on the floor, moving her arms emphatically as she explains something. Behind them, Elena kneels beside Mack, offering him a bottle of water as he gazes around them, dazed.

But it is the window behind them that draws most of Fitz’s attention, as a stray fish swims across the glass and he realises that what he had thought was the night sky is in fact the vastness of the open ocean.

He swallows hard. However long he and Jemma have been apart, it has been _much_ longer than ten minutes. 

‘Can it be?’

At the sound of her tearful voice, he turns back to her. It only takes him one glance into her eyes to see that she is on a knife edge, balanced precariously between hope and fear even as she grips his hand in her lap, feeling his pulse thump underneath her fingertips.

He now notices the shadow of a bruise on Jemma’s hairline, turned an ugly yellow under the florescent lights of the submarine, and a bandage wrapped tight around her thigh that hadn’t been there the last time he had seen her. The sight of it, and thinking about what he might have missed, makes Fitz feel slightly sick. 

Jemma sniffs again, and shuffles a little bit closer to him.

‘Can it be?’ she repeats, tilting her head to one side. ‘Can that be how we greet each other from now on? Even if we’ve only been apart for ten minutes?’

Wordlessly, Fitz nods. Now that his sedative is wearing off, his mind is alert again, brimming with questions and anxious for answers, but right now he knows that these are not the most important things for him to have.

Right now, the most important thing for him to have is her.

‘Yeah,’ he whispers, giving Jemma’s fingers a gentle squeeze. ‘Of course it can.’

She nods back at him, with a weak smile, and with the way her shoulders sag with relief you’d have thought his words had lifted the weight of the world from them.

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Fitz reaches out to draw her into him again. Jemma folds under his touch like an origami swan, and all but tumbles back into his arms.

Carefully, Fitz lifts her head up so they are eye to eye and leans across to kiss her, first on the forehead, then on both cheeks, and finally on her lips. Jemma kisses him softly back, before slipping her arms around his waist to hug him to her with a sigh.

‘I missed you,’ she murmurs.

Fitz wants to tell her that he had missed her too, even though it only feels like moments to him since they were last together. But in that moment, with her hair tickling his chin and her heart beating against his, his words fail him, and he can only nod and hold her just a little bit tighter.

The way Jemma’s lips on his neck lift, ever so slightly, into a smile let him know that she understands.

 

 


	49. a perfect little arrangement of atoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: https://twitter.com/AgentOceane/status/879798110804901889

 

 

Fitz couldn’t sleep.

Despite how tired he had felt before the light in the hospital room had been switched off, and despite how exhausting and exhilarating the last nine months had been, now his eyes simply would not shut.

Thankfully, Jemma didn’t seem to have the same problem. She had fallen asleep almost the moment she laid her head on the pillow, her dark hair fanned out around her. They had been holding hands before she’d dropped off, their fingers bridging the small gap between her bed and his chair, but sometime in the past hour she had unconsciously let go. Now, her hand is just brushing the rim of the crib between them, where their newborn daughter is fast asleep too.

Sinking further back into the chair, Fitz contentedly leans his head back to watch them both, their chests rising and falling in tandem.

He had known, right from the moment they had found out that Jemma was pregnant, that the arrival of a baby would turn their whole worlds upside down. Even in the few weeks after the discovery, they had made several life-altering decisions – they had left SHIELD, finally settling down in their own apartment, and Fitz had begun the applications to get them both legal passports again, so they could visit their families back home.

He had worried, intermittently, throughout the pregnancy about how they would adjust, about how having a baby would impact their already chaotic enough lives. He had even privately worried about how he would cope becoming a father, when his own had been such a poor role model.

The last twenty four hours had been among the most terrifying and wonderful of his life, but now that he and Jemma’s child is finally here, Fitz realises how redundant those fears had been. Right here in this moment, everything feels like it is exactly the way it was meant to be.

He must have sunk a little too far into the chair, because the next thing he knows his phone is sliding out from his back pocket and falling to the floor. It lands with a clatter, and Fitz’s head shoots guiltily up to the bed and cot.

Jemma doesn’t even stir, but his daughter gives a start and, as he watches, her tiny face screws up and she begins to give a few stuttered cries.

‘Oh, no.’

Hastily, Fitz gets to his feet and crouches over the cot. With one finger, he strokes her cheek, trying to soothe her back into sleep. When this is unsuccessful, he bites his lip and slips one hand underneath her head before lifting her out of the cot and into his arms. Cradling her against his chest, he carefully sits back down.

His daughter’s cries have stifled now, so she is only giving muffled sniffs, her head turned towards his shirt. Tucked into the crook of his arm, Fitz is struck by how strong she feels, despite being so small. Glancing across at Jemma, he realises proudly that it must be something she got from her mother.

‘Hey,’ he whispers, brushing his thumb against her temple. ‘Hey, baby girl.’

Unsurprisingly, his daughter doesn’t reply. Instead, her lips purse together as if she is trying to blow him a raspberry. This makes Fitz chuckle, and he bends down to press a kiss to the thin wisps of hair on the top of her head.

‘It’s great to be able to meet you at last,’ he continues. ‘But I have to admit, both mum and I were starting to go a little loopy, waiting all that time for you. Just don’t tell her I told you that, yeah?’

She scrunches her nose up, in a near perfect imitation of Jemma, and Fitz smiles.

‘I was really nervous about you coming, though. It seems silly now, but I was. I was terrified, but looking at you now, I can hardly remember why.’

Cradling her tight in one arm, Fitz uses his free hand to gently tug off the tiny woollen mittens his daughter has been wearing. His mothers had knitted them herself, instructing that they needed to be put on at night to stop her from scratching her face.

One of his daughter’s hands fits perfectly on the ball of Fitz’s thumb, and as she stretches out her fingers in their new found freedom, he sees that her nails are pearly pink, like miniature shells on the sea shore.

‘Everything in the world is made up of teeny, tiny particles called atoms, so small you can’t even see them. Sometimes, those atoms come together – pieces and parts of other things joining up to arrange something else. Something beautiful.’

At that moment, Fitz’s daughter opens her eyes; just a fraction, but wide enough so that he can see a whole new world behind them.

‘You are,’ he whispers to her, ‘such a perfect little arrangement of atoms.’

A movement on the bed makes Fitz look up, just in time to see Jemma roll over onto her side, a soft smile on her face.

‘I’m going to embroider that on a cushion.’

Fitz grins back, a sudden surge of love for her rising inside his chest. ‘You don’t know how to embroider.’

‘I’ll learn, just to do that.’ Jemma sighs, leaning her head back on the pillow before repeating, tenderly, ‘a perfect little arrangement of atoms.’

If he hadn’t been holding their precious baby daughter in his arms, Fitz would have sprung across to the bed to kiss her. Before yesterday, he hadn’t thought that Jemma, as heavily pregnant and frustrated as she had been, could grow anymore beautiful to him. But, after watching her struggle through her labour and lying in bed afterwards holding their daughter in her arms and practically  _glowing_  with joy, he had known that he had been a fool.

Every day they loved each other, she got all the more beautiful.

‘I wonder if Mummy managed to dream up a name for you, little darling,’ he murmurs to the baby, his eyes fixed, teasingly, on his wife.

Jemma rolls her eyes. ‘Mummy was rather busy catching up on nine months sleep, thank you very much. Did  _Daddy_ manage to look through the name books again?’

Fitz hopes the darkness in the room is enough to conceal his embarrassed flush and nods down to the sleeping baby in his arms.

‘Well,  _I_  was rather too busy being a father.’

The words falls out of his mouth and Fitz expects it to feel foreign, the first time he’d used it since their daughter had been born. Instead, though, it feels as familiar as his own name.

He must have started to smile because Jemma does too, her entire face softening.

‘Once morning comes,’ she says, ‘we’ll have plenty of time to rifle through the name books again.’

Fitz nods, before glancing back down at their baby. Her eyes are closed once more, her dark eyelashes so long they brush against her cheeks. He touches his finger to her nose and feels love flood his heart once more.

When he looks back up at Jemma, her eyes are damp and she holds out her arms. Getting carefully to his feet, he crosses the room to pass their daughter to her, lowering her into Jemma’s eager arms. She gives a soft sigh as she is given to her mother, and Jemma kisses her forehead as she settles them back against the pillow.

Unwilling to return to his chair, Fitz sits down next to her and twists a lock of hair around his little finger.

Sitting like this allows him to appreciate just how alike he and his daughter look. In the immediate hours after her birth, he had only been able to see Jemma in her – in the curve of her nose, darkness of her eyes, and in the way he had fallen head over heels in love with her. But now, he can see that the hair curling on top of her head is as fair as his own had been, and that the shape of her lips will form a grin as broad as his, and that Jemma is gazing at her with a look of such profound adoration that he has only ever seen her give him.

Smiling, he bends down to brush a strand of hair from his wife’s cheek and, when she turns to him, kisses her slowly on the lips.

Jemma kisses him back, surprised but clearly appreciative, and when he pulls away she gives him a quizzical look.

‘What was that for?’

Fitz shrugs. ‘I was just thinking about how it was us who made her. It took both our particles to arrange something this beautiful.’

Jemma seems to consider this, before starting to smile herself. ‘Hmm. I suppose it did.’

Chuckling, Fitz leans forward to kiss her again, one hand on her cheek, the other cradling their daughter’s head.

‘I love you two,’ he mumbles against her lips. ‘And all your atoms.’

 

 


	50. "it's okay. i couldn't sleep anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "it's okay. i couldn't sleep anyway."

 

 

He calls Jemma.

Of course, he realises, as he scrolls through his contact list to her name, there isn’t really anyone else for him to call. His mum is thousands of miles away, and Fitz can imagine that the few cadets he now recognises enough to nod at in the shower cubicles wouldn’t appreciate such a late night phone call, especially from him of all people.

But even if there had been someone else he’d felt he could ring, Fitz knows that he’d still have called Jemma.

‘Hi, Fitz,’ she says, picking up on the third ring.

The way she says it makes it sounds like she’d been expecting his call, despite it being three in the morning, only hours before their last exam before Christmas.

‘Hey, Simmons.’ Fitz rubs between his eyes and swings his legs out of bed. ‘Listen, I’m so sorry to call you like this. It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about this morning, and you know that chemistry isn’t one of my strong points. I know it’s late - or  _early_ , I guess - but I was wondering-’

‘Do you have a kettle in your room?’ she interrupts.

‘Uh…yes.’

‘And tea?’

‘Earl grey, yeah.’

‘Excellent. You know how I take mine. I’m on the third floor, next to the back stairs.’

Fitz frowns. He’d only gone with Jemma to drop her off at her dorm a few times but he was fairly certain she’d always lived on the ground floor, with no stairs in sight. Unless she’d moved rooms and neglected to tell him…

‘Are you in the library? Right now?’

‘Mmm.’ He hears her phone slip, and a rustle of pages on the other end of the line. When Jemma speaks again, her voice is hushed. ‘Fitz, I’ve got to go. You know how the night librarians are about phones. I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes, I imagine.’

She hangs up, without waiting for his reply. For a moment, Fitz can only stare at the phone in his hand, his mind frantically trying to process the conversation it had just had.

Then, with a sigh, he reaches out for his trousers and two mugs.

 

* * *

 

The Academy library is different at night.

On his way to the third floor, Fitz sees precisely three people - the night librarian and two final year cadets, all of whom stare right through him as though he was made of mist. The lights are dimmed, and flickering, and there is a hushed, empty silence that contrasts starkly with the charged, buzzing quiet the place was usually filled with.

He finds Jemma exactly where she’d said she would be, curled up on the floor by the shelf nearest the back staircase. She has a gigantic text book on her lap that she is struggling to hold in place, and it slips off as she looks up to smile at him.

‘Good morning.’

‘Morning.’ Gingerly, Fitz crouches down beside her and offers her one mug of tea. ‘I hope it’s still hot.’

‘It’s perfect,’ Jemma breathes, bringing the mug to her lips and taking a gulp. ‘Thank you for bringing it.’

‘S’okay.’ Glancing around him, Fitz notices that there is a blanket sticking out of Jemma’s backpack, along with an empty water bottle and several cereal bar wrappers. Evidently, she hadn’t just arrived at the library when he’d called. ‘I thought I’d woken you up,’ he admits.

Jemma chuckles, and shakes her head. ‘It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep either.’

She sets her mug to one side and heaves the heavy text book back onto her knees to continue reading. Fitz sinks down next to her, propping his back against the shelf.

Part of him feels like he ought to find a book too, and cram in some last minute studying as well, but for some reason he doesn’t. Instead, he finds himself watching Jemma read, her quick amber eyes running across the pages as her fingers tap against the spine.

She has thrown all her hair up into a ponytail, but she must have been worrying at it because loose tendrils are framing her face, with even more slipping down against her neck. As she reads, a tiny frown appears on her forehead and she bites down on her bottom lip, making them flush pink. Fitz feels his own face start to turn red, and he looks away before she has time to notice him staring.

‘How long have you been in here?’ he asks.

‘Oh.’ Jemma peers at her watch. ‘Um, since about ten, I think? Yes, that was lights out, so I came here instead.’

‘You’ve been studying non-stop for five hours?’ Fitz shakes his head in disbelief and flicks at the text book in her hand. ‘Honestly, Simmons, is any of that even going in?’

‘Highly unlikely.’ When he does a double take, she lifts one shoulder ruefully. ‘Studies have shown that cramming before a test or exam does very little to help retain information. Most probably, I’ll open the paper and not be able to recall a word of what I’ve head tonight.’

Fitz can’t quite believe what he is hearing. ‘Then what’s the point in doing it at all?’

Jemma sighs. ‘I told you, I couldn’t sleep either. And even though logically I know that nothing will make a difference now, I also know that if the exam doesn’t go well tomorrow I will be able to say that at least I studied up until the last minute.’

As much as Fitz hates to admit it, it makes sense. Or at least, it makes sense for Jemma. Despite only being friends for a few months, he already knows exactly how her mind works, and he feels a little guilty for not guessing she was doing something like this sooner.

The blanket in her rucksack catches his eye, and an idea forms in the back of his mind.

‘Hey, do you want to try something?’

Jemma’s forehead creases. ‘Try what?’

‘Well…’ Reaching across her, Fitz tugs the blanket free. ‘I can’t sleep. You can’t sleep. I thought maybe we could try doing it together.’

When Jemma’s eyebrows shoot up, Fitz realises how that had sounded.

‘No! I don’t mean…not  _together_ , together. Just…’ His cheeks start to burn as Jemma covers her mouth with her hand to hide her giggles. ‘I thought…’

‘Okay.’ 

Jemma surprises him by closing the text book and setting it to one side. She pulls at the blanket, unfolding it across their knees, and looks up at him. Fitz notices the rings around her eyes, shallow and purple, that are completely overshadowed by the shy tenderness in her gaze.

‘Let’s try it,’ she says quietly.

Wordlessly, he nods, and lifts up his arm as she shuffles closer to his side. They have never been this close before, and there is an initial awkwardness about it as they both try to accommodate each other’s limbs. Eventually, they reach a comfortable position, with Jemma’s head resting on Fitz’s shoulder and his arm held loosely around her waist.

The short blanket just about covers both their knees, and Fitz smooths it out, feeling the press of Jemma’s head underneath his chin every time he moves. 

It’s not an unpleasant feeling. In fact, it feels rather nice.

‘Fitz?’ Jemma mumbles.

‘I’m here.’

‘What would happen if we failed tomorrow.’

‘We aren’t going to fail, Simmons.’

‘Oh, I know. But if we did?’

Fitz swallows, his throat suddenly inexplicably dry. ‘Uh, we’d leave the Academy, I suppose.’

‘Together?’

‘Pardon?’

‘If we had to leave,’ Jemma repeats, leaning further back into his chest, ‘could we go together?’

‘If…if you like.’

‘I would.’ She sighs, and pulls his arm tighter across her middle. The way her words are starting to slur tells Fitz that she is half-way to sleeping already. ‘I would like. Wouldn’t you?’

Sitting with his best friend on the floor of the library, sharing a blanket and a mug of tea, Fitz can’t help thinking that there is nothing he’d like more.

‘Yeah,’ he whispers, even as Jemma starts to snore quietly. ‘I reckon I would.’

 

 


	51. "i've missed you" kiss in space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: an “i’ve missed you” kiss + somewhere in space

 

 

From the moment she’d first arrived at the Playground, salt-stained and with the stench of fear still clinging to her skin, Jemma had detested the bathroom facilities on the base. She had never been able to get the water to run right; it either scorched her back or left her shivering, and the singular bath had a nasty habit of coughing up black sludge half-way through filling up the basin. The radiators were rusty, and the cracked tile floor was badly in need of being torn up and replaced with something new and less likely to cut your bare feet when you walked across it.

Now though, as she hugs her towel to her chest on her way to the space station shower block, Jemma finds herself wishing she was back in that cold, creaky bathroom with its leaky taps and chipping paint.

She hadn’t known how lucky she was.

Water, just like everything else on the space station, was rationed, and set to a timer. Soap and shower gel were standard issue and odourless, distributed into each cubicle via automatic dispensers. You had five minutes to stand under the warm jet and get clean, before the water system shuddered, and cut off. There were, as Daisy had discovered when her water stopped when she was half-way through washing her hair, no arguments. And no exceptions.

Once she is given access inside the block, Jemma quickly strips, hanging her clothes up on the allotted peg for her cubicle. Each cubicle had a private area for changing, but the showers themselves were only separated by a white curtain.

The shower next to Jemma’s is running, steam rising from the floor, as she steps into her cubicle and curses under her breath as she notices the controls. She has never used this shower before, and the buttons are different and the temperature gauge a lever instead of a knob.

Gritting her teeth, Jemma stares at it. She is a scientist, top of her field and with two PhDs. Surely she can work out a simple shower.

Ignoring the goose bumps appearing on her arms and legs, she tries to twist the lever towards hot. Stubbornly, it doesn’t budge.

Jemma feels a flare of frustration as she twists harder, wanting to warm the water up before she turns it on. There is no way she is going to waste her precious shower time trying to clean in ice-cold water.

The shower next-door cuts off, just as Jemma’s foot slips as she tries to push the lever in a desperate bid at getting it to move.

‘Oh, for fu-’

‘Jemma?’

The curtain between her cubicle and then next twitches, and Fitz pokes his head around it. His face is flushed pink with the heat, and his hair is standing up in tufts. He looks from her to the shower controls and back again.

‘Um, are you alright?’

Jemma shakes her head, gesturing to the lever. ‘I can’t get the bloody thing to move to hot water.’

‘Ah.’ Fitz sticks his arm out from behind the curtain to point. ‘That’s because you can’t. Not until you’ve turned the shower on, using that button there. It’s designed to save hot water being heated excessively, and the power sources from being over-exerted.’

She must have looked peeved, because he grins. ‘Don’t worry, it heats up pretty fast; I’ve used it before. You aren’t going to waste you shower time with five minutes of cold water.’

Jemma isn’t quite sure what it is that makes her do what she does next.

Perhaps it’s the look on his face, the way he is looking at her with bemusement, exasperation and affection all at once, or the fact that his damp hair makes him look years younger while the scruff on his chin makes her heart beat faster. Perhaps it’s how well he knows her, even after all these years, to be able to read her mind so acutely and voice the petty worry she’d been keeping to herself.

Or, maybe, it’s just because it has been more than twelve hours since the last time she’d touched him, and after the weeks - months, really - of feeling distant from him, she never wants them to feel so far apart again.

Whatever the reasons, Jemma takes a step forward so that her body is pressed against Fitz’s, with only the shower curtain between them. Even though they are both bare-footed, she still has to lift herself up onto her tiptoes to bring her lips up to his.

Fitz’s breathing hitches as she kisses him, but it only takes him a heartbeat to respond, his lips prising hers open to deepen the kiss. Jemma cups his cheek in the palm of her hand, feeling the rough grit of stubble underneath her fingertips as his fingers splay out across her back. She grins through the kiss, at the sensation of warm water droplets trickling down her legs.

Slowly, the walls of the shower block crumble away around them, transporting Jemma back to their lab, to his bunk, to a hotel room in Bucharest, and to all the other places that her lips had sought the solace of his.

No matter where they were, or even what planet they were on, kissing Fitz always managed to make her feel like she was home.

When she pulls away from him, sinking back to her feet, Fitz keeps his eyes closed a moment longer. He opens them, and Jemma feels her heart glow at the look of pure love he is giving her.

‘What was that for?’ he asks, his voice a little hoarse.

Unable to put it into appropriate words, she shakes her head. ‘Nothing.’ She smiles, and tilts her head up towards him. ‘I missed you.’

For once, Fitz has no quick reply, no tease about how she’d only seen him this morning. Instead, his whole expression softens, and he reaches out for a loose tendril of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. He curls it around his index finger, tying them together.

‘I missed you too,’ he murmurs, and the deepness of his tone makes Jemma’s stomach flip over.

When he leans towards her, one hand returning to her waist, she closes her eyes.

But the next kiss never comes, because they are interrupted by a sharp rapping on the door of Fitz’s cubicle. Evidently, its next occupant had become tired of waiting for his turn.

‘Oh, bugger off!’ Fitz calls over his shoulder.

Reaching across Jemma, he flips her shower on, gently manoeuvring her out of the jets of cold water. But, when the water begins to run warm, he grins at her, before pushing back the curtain to step into her cubicle too.

As her laughter echoes off the shower block walls, Jemma decides that perhaps this part of space living wasn’t so bad after all.

 

 


	52. "war's end" kiss, star wars au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a ‘war’s end’ kiss in the star wars universe

 

 

Fitz follows hot on Jemma’s heels as she hurries out of the Resistance base command centre towards their shared ship.

The arrival of General Leia’s ex-husband, along with a rouge Stormtrooper, had shaken the Resistance to its core, before spurning it into action. They brought news of the First Order’s lightspeed weapon, capable of draining a sun and destroying a planet. Remembering the images he’d seen of the ruins of the Republic capital, the first place the weapon had hit, Fitz shudders.

Only five minutes ago, the General had informed them their their planet was the First Order’s next target.

He watches as Jemma zips up her pilot’s uniform, slipping on her gloves and stuffing her feet into big black boots, until he can’t wait any longer.

‘You’ll be careful, won’t you?’

Jemma blinks up at him, her clear brown eyes full of purpose.

‘Fitz, I’m flying straight towards a war zone. And you heard what Dameron said; Starkiller Base is  _at least_  five times the size the Death Star was. Of course I’m going to be careful.’

This information in itself isn’t exactly comforting, although Fitz knows that she is trying to reassure him. This isn’t going to be a simple reconnaissance mission, where she could be taken unawares. She is going in with a full fleet, and they are preparing for the worst.

‘And besides,’ Jemma continues, reaching out to grab his arm as she struggles to pull a boot on, ‘it’s  _you_  that I’m worried about.’

Fitz snorts. ‘Me? Why would you need to be worrying about  _me_?’

When he meets Jemma’s gaze, he is struck by the sincere concern in her eyes, and realises that she hadn’t been making a lighthearted remark.

‘If we can’t stop the weapon,’ she says in a low voice, ‘if we can’t destroy the oscillator in time, then this whole base, this whole  _planet_ …’

She sucks in a breath as a group of their fellow pilots jog by, clearly not wanting to voice her fears in earshot of them. Fitz waits, his heart thumping.

‘It’ll all be gone,’ Jemma murmurs, then reaches out to touch his hand. ‘ _You’ll_  be gone.’

Fitz stands stock still, allowing the enormity of what she is saying to crash over him, like a wave on a rock. He turns his hand over to link his fingers with hers.

‘But you will stop it,’ he says. ‘So you don’t need to worry.’

Jemma doesn’t look convinced, but when other ships begin to start their engines around them she has no choice but to join them.

Fitz gives her a boost, lifting her up so that she can scramble into the cockpit and tosses her helmet in after her. 

When Jemma flashes him a smile of gratitude, something inside him twists. Throwing caution to the wind, he grips hold of the window ledge and lifts himself up to her eye level.

‘Hey…’ He hesitates, unsure of what he’d been meaning to say. ‘Just…don’t do anything stupid, okay?’

Jemma scoffs. ‘Oh, when do I ever?’

She says it teasingly, but Fitz knows that she understands he is serious. He doesn’t need to remind her again of the dangers her stoic selflessness brought her, or the compassion and bravery that made her such an valued pilot in the Resistance.

‘Just be careful,’ he repeats, quietly. And then, after a pause during which he is sure she can hear how loudly his heart is beating, he adds, ‘and come…’

‘What?’ Jemma’s eyes are shining, and her entire face has softened. ‘Come back to you?’

She has stolen the words right out of his mouth, and all Fitz can do is nod.

Jemma’s hand inches towards his on the window, and her mouth part, as if she is about to say something more. Fitz’s heart is in his throat as they lock eyes, and a thousand unspoken feelings from the last ten years of friendship pass between them, faster than the blink of an eye.

Then, all too quickly, there is a hand on the back of his shirt as a commander hauls him away from the ship so that Jemma can take off. Stumbling backwards, Fitz watches as the ship drives along the runway before taking off, flying almost immediately into lightspeed.

It is only when he turns to go back into the command centre that he realises neither of them said  _goodbye_.

 

* * *

 

Fitz would be lying if he said he’d devoted the entire time the pilots were at Starkiller to the success of the mission.

That wasn’t to say that he’d neglected his duties, or those of the juniors under his care; far from it. Any slip, or misdirection from them could have been disaster for the pilots, and Fitz would never do anything that might have put Jemma in danger.

He knows the fate of the galaxy is in their hands. But he also knows that every time he closes his eyes he sees Jemma’s fingers reaching out for his, and her lips falling open as though as an invitation.

She fills his thoughts, and every move he makes for the Resistance he makes in his heart for her.

He hurries out of the command centre as soon as word goes around that the pilots have returned. It doesn’t take him long to spot Jemma, being helped out of their shuttle and relieved of her uniform, and he feels his heart leap to see her, alive and back on the same planet as him.

As he gets closer, trying not to run, he notices that she has a deep graze on her cheek, and when she turns he can see the exhaustion in his eyes.

But then, she notices him coming towards her, and all that melts away.

‘Fitz,’ she exhales with a radiant smile, and suddenly he can’t wait any longer.

Fitz lengthens his strides, reaching Jemma just as she steps away from their ship. He slips his hand underneath her cheek, tilting her head back, and kisses her.

Jemma opens herself up to the kiss as easily as if they were becoming one being, and Fitz feels her lips press against his eagerly as she loops her arms around his neck. He encircles her waist, drawing her even nearer to him, as he revels in the sensation of kissing his best friend.

It feels like he has found what he never knew he wanted.

The thought is so fulfilling that it gives Fitz a fresh burst of courage. Making sure he is holding her securely, he leans forward, so that Jemma is dipped so low her hair skims the ground. She breaks the kiss to laugh, before cupping his face in her hands and bringing his lips back to meet hers.

‘I came back,’ she whispers between kisses.

Fitz pulls her back upright, a warmth spreading through his chest like a summer sun. 

‘Yeah,’ he replies, and opens his eyes to grin at her. ‘I guess you did.’

They have broken apart quite naturally, but their foreheads stay resting together, their hands joined in front of them. Like this, Fitz can see the cut on Jemma’s cheek up close, and he frowns as it begins to bleed. Tenderly, so as not to hurt her, he reaches out to touch the red, swollen skin around it.

‘We need to get some ice on that,’ he decides.

‘Mm,’ Jemma agrees, and takes hold of his wrist with a coy smile. ‘Come on then.’

She gives one tug, and Fitz allows her to lead him away, towards whatever galaxy they decide to take on next.

 

 


	53. exhausted parents kiss, "you can have half"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: an exhausted parents kiss and "you can have half"

 

 

‘There are,’ Jemma says, for what feels like the umpteenth time that evening, ‘absolutely no monsters. None in the wardrobe, none under the bed and none behind the door.’

For good measure, she raps the back of her daughter’s bedroom door to prove it.

‘You’re completely safe, darling, okay?’

Freya nods at her mum, her blue eyes wide over the heads of the many soft toys in bed with her. Smiling, Jemma blows her one last kiss.

‘I love you, night-night.’

‘Night-night,’  her three-year old parrots back at her, before snuggling down under her blankets.

Jemma steps out of the room, and closes the door behind her. Only then does she lean her back against it and blow out so hard her breath lifts her hair off her forehead.

She might have been a SHIELD agent for fifteen years, but even that had never made her as tired as being a monster-hunting mother did.

Stifling a yawn, she shuffles along the hall to the living room and falls back against the sofa, rubbing a sore spot at the small of her back ruefully. Allowing Freya to watch Monsters Inc with Alfie the other week had been a decision she and Fitz had regretted every night since, as they’d gotten on their knees to check under the bed for monsters.

The next time her children watched movies together, Jemma decides, she was making notes on all the possible repercussions beforehand.

Her musings are interrupted by Fitz, wandering into the room and stooping to kiss her on the forehead. His hair is damp, and there is a water spray stain on his t-shirt.

‘How’s Freya’s room?’

Jemma grins. ‘Shockingly monster-free.’

‘Even underneath the bed?’ When she nods, Fitz gives a low whistle. ‘Impressive work, Simmons.’

‘And what about Alfie?’ Jemma asks, as her husband makes for the kitchen. ‘Did he manage to get into the shower tonight?’

Their six-year old son had a distinct aversion to the bath shower, refusing to go near the jets and choosing to cower instead at the opposite end of the bath tub. Night after night, his parents were trying to coax him further under it.

Fitz grimaces. ‘Yeah…but only with me going in with him.’

He gestures to his wet clothes and hair, and Jemma holds back a snort.

Fitz disappears into the kitchen, and Jemma hears the clattering of cutlery and and the fridge door opening and closing. She shuts her eyes and leans her head back against the cushions, revelling in the quiet of their flat, now that both her children were bathed and bedded.

Underneath her cardigan, her hands rest against the almost indistinguishable swell of her stomach, where she hopes their third is sleeping peacefully too.

‘Do you think we’re mad?’ she asks.

Fitz comes back into the room, holding a plate in one hand and a knife in the other. He collapses next to her on the sofa, and Jemma sees that he has a thick sandwich on the plate, stuffed with thick slices of chicken, crispy lettuce and fresh tomatoes. The chicken is still warm from the children’s supper, and the smell makes her stomach rumble.

‘Well, I know that I’m mad,’ Fitz remarks, cutting the sandwich in half. When he looks up to find her looking at him with a puzzled expression, he adds sheepishly, ‘about  _you_ …’

Jemma groans, and shoves at his shoulder before leaning against his side. Fitz lifts up one arm to let her settle against him, both of them snuggled into the other.

‘Other than that,’ he continues, ‘I think you’re going to have to be more specific. I’m sure there are plenty of perfectly justifiable reasons to call the two of us mad.’

With her head resting on his shoulder, Jemma takes his hand and guides it to her small bump.

‘Are we completely crazy,’ she murmurs, ‘to be doing this again?’

‘Honestly?’

When she nods, Fitz pulls a straight face. ‘Completely. Frankly, I don’t know what either of us were thinking; or Daisy, for that matter. Imagine offering to babysit so that your two best friends could have a night out without their kids, and  _not_  thinking that this would be the result…’

‘Oh!’ 

Jemma rolls her eyes, but can’t help chuckling along with her husband. Fitz’s fingers close around her hand, and she feels his thumb rub affectionately against her stomach.

‘But seriously,’ he murmurs to her, ‘maybe this is crazy. Maybe it’s exactly what is meant to be. All I know is that I don’t care which it is.’

He twists his head so that he is gazing into her eyes, and Jemma feels her heart contract.

‘I’d rather be doing something crazy with you than anything perfectly sane with anyone else.’

Feeling tears prick at her eyes, Jemma surges forward to catch his lips with hers. Fitz’s hand slides to her waist to steady her as she clambers across the sofa to straddle his lap, his lips sliding open to deepen the kiss.

A warm rush of delight runs through Jemma’s body, and she loops her arms around his neck, drawing them even closer. Their lips dance together in a familiar pattern that never feels tired. Even after all these years, they are still discovering new parts of each other, that only deepen the love that already exists.

Fitz pulls back, momentarily, to meet her gaze, and when Jemma sees the question he is asking with his eyes, she nods, breathlessly. But before he can lift her off the sofa and carry her to their bedroom (locking the door  _very_  securely behind them), a piercing wail fills the air.

‘MUMM-EEEEEE!’

Jemma muffles her moan, letting her forehead fall to rest against Fitz’s. He is shaking with the effort it is taking him to hold in his laughter, but as she moves to get up from the cushions he pushes her back, lifting her legs from his lap.

‘Let me handle this one.’

‘Oh?’ she raises an eyebrow at him as he hurries back to the kitchen. ‘Do you have any monster-hunting tricks you’d like to share with the rest of the class?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Fitz scoffs, but as he passes the sofa on his way to Freya’s room, he waves a tiny bottle of lavender essence at her. ‘The Fitz family’s monster repellent is to stay top secret, thank you very much.’

Jemma laughs, but mimes zipping her lips and throwing it away anyway. ‘Call me if you need back-up.’

‘Will do. Oh, and Jemma?’

She looks up as Fitz pokes his head back around the door. He grins at her, the kind of rakish, bashful smile that makes her fall in love with him all over again, almost as much as the utterance of his next words as he nods to his sandwich.

‘You can have half.’

 

 


	54. a kiss on the ear post 1x07

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a kiss on the ear

 

 

When the rap at his door comes, Fitz moans into his pillow.

He had known this was coming, he’d just hoped it wouldn’t come so soon.

‘Fitz? Can I come in?’

Raising himself up onto one elbow, he sucks in a breath.

‘Yeah,’ he calls, trying not to let his voice sound as bunged up as it is. ‘It’s not locked.’

He had begun to sniff only hours after returning from Ossetia, and his sniffles  had rapidly turned into shivering. Then he’d started to ache all over, with pain that even a hot shower couldn’t relieve, and by the time he’d dressed in fresh, warm clothes and clambered into his bed, Fitz had reluctantly had to admit it to himself.

He’d caught a cold.

He pulls the duvet up higher around his neck as Jemma enters his bunk, hoping that by hiding his face in the pillow she won’t be able to see how red and puffy it is.

He can’t hear any movement, which tells him that she must be still standing in the doorway.

‘Are you alright?’ she asks.

‘Fine,’ Fitz replies, as breezily as he can with only one functioning nostril. ‘Just tired. That mission really took it out of me.’

‘Hmm.’

He imagines Jemma cocking her head to one side as she takes a step closer. Quite possibly, she even has her arms crossed.

‘The decongestant from my first aid kit is missing,’ she remarks pointedly. ‘I don’t suppose you have any idea where it can have gone, do you? Or who might be using it?’

Pressed against his mattress, Fitz’s heart thumps, and he curses himself for being so obvious.

‘Uhh…’ He pretends to think. ‘Do you know, I reckon I heard Skye blowing her nose this afternoon. Maybe you should pay her a visit…’

He has to sniff, and tries to do so as inconspicuously as possible.

Jemma sighs, and Fitz feels the end of his bed dip as she sinks down onto it. ‘Fitz, I can see the box of tissues on your desk. You’ve got a cold, haven’t you?’

Fitz closes his eyes briefly, before reluctantly pushing back the duvet (he’d been beginning to suffocate under there a bit anyway) and looking up at her. Jemma raises one eyebrow, clearly taking in his red nose and weepy eyes, and Fitz groans.

‘Yes.’

‘Honestly!’ Jemma cries, throwing up her hands in exasperation. ‘I _told_  you Ossetia would be cold. I even brought you that thermal vest, and now I know you didn’t wear it like you told me you would.’

‘It didn’t fit underneath the tactical gear,’ Fitz says weakly, praying to God that she never found out about the sandwich. ‘Look, Simmons, I know I should have listened to you, and I’m sorry. But I really don’t have the energy for this right now, so can we not?’

Her face falls, and for a moment he regrets being so blunt with her. But then all her features soften, and she sighs again, but more gently.

‘Wait here.’

‘It’s not like I’m raring to go anywhere else,’ Fitz mumbles, but Jemma doesn’t hear him as she slides off the bed and out of the room.

She is gone for fifteen minutes. During that time, Fitz dozes fitfully, tugging the blankets closer around him and reaching out every so often to tug the tissue box closer to him. When Jemma knocks on the door again, he calls her back in and struggles into a sitting position.

‘Here.’ Jemma hands him another box of tablets. ‘Cold and flu relief, and ibuprofen. Take two now.’

Obediently, Fitz swallows the pills with the glass of water she’d also brought him, and sits forward as she slides a second pillow behind his back and places extra tissues on the desk. 

Again, he feels guilty for being so sharp with her earlier. Jemma had always had the perfect balance of firmness and compassion when he was ill, one that he’d never found the knack of, or the opportunity to reciprocate.

‘What’s that?’ he asks, nodding to the flask she is holding.

Jemma shakes it in his direction and smiles. ‘Chicken broth, for when you feel up for eating something. If it goes cold, I can nip back out and pop it in the microwave.’

Fitz frowns, wrinkling up his nose. ‘Are you staying, then?’

‘If you don’t mind me being here, I thought I would.’ Jemma ducks her head, her hair falling down her shoulder to cover her face.

‘Course I don’t mind. But doesn’t Coulson need you for anything in the lab?’

‘No, actually. He’s given us a bit of a respite after you and Ward’s mission, so we don’t need to go to the lab until Monday.’

She looks down at him, and for a moment Fitz thinks he sees her cheeks flush.

‘And besides,’ she continues quietly. ‘I don’t like being in there without you.’

She meets his gaze, with a shy and tender look in her eyes, and a warmth blooms in Fitz’s chest, one that he doesn’t know her words or his rising fever produced.

For a moment or two, they continue to look steadily at one another, hesitant smiles on their faces, before Jemma clears her throat.

‘However, just because we aren’t in the lab doesn’t mean we can’t be productive!’ She fishes a magazine off his floor. ‘This is the latest copy of  _New Scientist_ , right?’ Before he can answer, she is flicking through it. ‘I saw they had a  _fascinating_ article on artificial organs I could read to you…’

Fitz’s already queasy stomach turns at the prospect.

‘Actually, Jemma,’ he starts hesitantly, ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache. Would you mind if we didn’t?’

She blinks at him, then pulls an apologetic face. ‘Right. Sorry. Probably not the best subject matter for you either.’

Putting the magazine to one side, she makes to slide off the bed. ‘I’ll check on you in the morning then…’

Alarmed, Fitz reaches out to stop her. ‘No, Jemma, wait. I didn’t mean that you had to go. In fact…’

He hesitates, unsure of quite how to phrase what he wants to say next. All of a sudden, he doesn’t want to be left alone, without the warmth her presence brought to a room. He doesn’t want her to go, not when they could be together instead.

‘You can stay,’ Fitz decides on, eventually. He lifts one shoulder in a sheepish shrug. ‘If you don’t mind, of course.’

Jemma’s confused expression melts into a smile.

‘Course I don’t mind,’ she echoes his earlier reply, and grins.

She clambers back onto the bed as Fitz sinks back against the pillows. He feels the mattress creak as Jemma crawls across the duvet to lie down next to him, and he can’t help himself from smiling as her limbs starfish across his.

‘You’ll only catch my cold,’ he warns her.

Jemma scoffs.

‘How many years have you known me, and how many times have I caught a cold during those years?’

‘There’s a first time for everything,’ Fitz mutters, but Jemma silences him with a  kiss to the helix of his ear, the only part of him she can reach.

‘Goodnight, Fitz.’

‘Night, Simmons,’ Fitz murmurs, as she tucks her head against his shoulder and closes his eyes to sleep.

 

 


	55. "we can never be together" kiss, victorian au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a "we can never be together" kiss

 

 

Carrying his trunk out in front of him, Fitz makes his way down the creaking wooden staircase. He has left off his boots to help him move more quietly, but he still flinches at every groan the boards make beneath his stocking-ed feet.

It is barely light outside, and thick dew still covers the grass of the vast park of the Simmons estate. Outside the oak front door, Fitz knows there is a carriage waiting to take him all the way back to London, and never to return. The thought makes a lump appear in his throat, and he has to blink twice before he is able to lace his boots properly.

His hand is on the door, ready to pull it open and leave, when he removes it with a curse, remembering a book he had left in the library. Turning on his heel, he hurries back across the great hall to the library door and pushes it open.

He has crossed the room and picked up the book, a volume of poetry pressed into his hand with a brush of eager fingertips, before he looks up and discovers that he is not alone.

Curled up on the window seat, framed in the glow of the rising sun, is a young woman with a book on her lap and a shawl over her shoulders.

Fitz feels his mouth run dry and he sucks in a breath.

‘Jemma.’

Sitting forward so that her skirts rustle, Jemma’s eyes scan his body, taking in his heavy boots and travelling coat, and Fitz watches her face fall.

‘You were going to leave,’ she observes flatly, ‘without saying goodbye.’

Fitz knows that he completely deserves the accusatory tone - that  _was_  what he had been doing, after all - but it makes something inside him prickle even so.

‘Oh, come on, Jemma,’ he says, holding out his hands from his sides, ‘we both know that there’s no point in me staying here any longer.’

Jemma sniffs, plucking at a loose thread in her shawl. The sun has risen to just beside her head, obscuring her features. Fitz’s hands fall back to his sides.

‘We can’t get married,’ he says thickly. ‘I have no fortune and no trade, and you have no dowry.’ Shaking his head, he plucks at the pages of his book. ‘And we both love our parents too much to resign them to an old age of destitution and poverty.’

Turning her head away, Jemma lifts one hand to her cheek quickly before letting it fall.

‘Do you ever wish,’ she whispers, ‘that you weren’t so selfless?’

Fitz is pulled up short by the bluntness of her question.

‘No.’

‘And why not?’ Clearly frustrated, Jemma pushes her book to one side and gets to her feet. Her skirts fall, heavily, to the floorboards around her. ‘Perhaps if we were worse people, then we could be together.’

She is agitating her hands in front of her as she speaks, and Fitz can tell that, try as she might, she is utterly unconvinced by what she is saying.

‘But we aren’t worse people,’ he reminds her. ‘And if being selfish meant that I couldn’t look after you the way I want to, then I don’t think I could do it, Jemma.’

She looks up at him, her eyes a mirror of tears. Fitz swallows.

‘I love you too much for that.’

Jemma gives a hitching sob, and covers her mouth with one hand. The gesture makes something inside Fitz twist painfully and his arms ache to hold her. After a moment, Jemma runs her hands through her hair and sighs.

‘So, you are leaving?’ she asks, a tremor to her voice.

Fitz nods, feeling the back of his throat burn. ‘And I’m afraid,’ he croaks, ‘that I don’t think I’ll ever be coming back.’

Jemma’s eyes close, fleetingly, as she purses her lips together. Then, she turns to him, and he can see that her face is ablaze.

‘So kiss me.’

The proclamation floors Fitz even more than the passionate expression it is delivered with, a for a moment all he can do is stare.

‘What?’

‘Kiss me,’ Jemma insists. 

She takes a step closer to him, so they are nose to nose. Fitz can see all the freckles laced through her pale skin, and the beautiful determination shining in her eyes.

‘If, as you say, there is no hope for us and we are never to see each other again, then what is the danger in it?’ 

Jemma holds out her hands, mimicking the position he had taken just minutes ago. Something in her face reminds Fitz of how she challenged him to chess games, her face glowing in the dinner candlelight. They had played in her parent’s decaying drawing room afterwards, while her other suitors watched on, shivering.

The thought that one of them would now win her hand made Fitz burn with a very ungentlemanly fury.

‘What is there,’ Jemma says, ‘for us to lose?’

‘Nothing,’ Fitz murmurs, almost to himself. ‘Nothing at all.’

And then he steps forward, his book falling from his hands, and kisses her.

The instant her lips touch his, Fitz understands that they will be both the first and the last to do so. As their arms close around each other and his eyes fall shut, he knows without a doubt that he could never kiss anybody else.

Whoever they might be, they could never compare to Jemma.

Every part of her that he touches is soft - her cheeks, her hair, her waist, her mouth - but there is a strength hidden beneath her skin that makes her surge forward, locking her arms around his neck to pull them closer.

Instinctively, Fitz’s lips part, and he hears Jemma give a low moan as his tongue slips into her mouth. She responds by gently grazing the inside of his lip with her teeth, and Fitz’s hold on her middle tightens.

Lifting her by the waist, he carries her to the bookcase, where, with her back pressed against the spines, he kisses her again. 

This time, they kiss harder, with a pace like raindrops falling onto stone. Jemma kisses him one, then again, and again, faster than Fitz can count. His fingers brush against her cheeks, cupping her face as his lips press against hers with such vigour he knows they will both be left red and chapped.

He does not care. He wants to be stained with her for the rest of his life.

When Jemma eventually breaks away with a shuddering gasp, Fitz pauses for a heartbeat, allowing them both to catch their breath. Then, he nudges her nose with his own, tipping her face towards his for one last kiss.

It is, quite possibly, the most selfish act of his life.

‘Don’t forget,’ Jemma murmurs against his lips.

Fitz wants to laugh, even as he feels her tears trickle down her face to melt onto their lips.

‘How could I ever forget you?’

Jemma sighs, and Fitz tastes his own breath on her tongue.

‘I meant your book.’

Somehow, he makes it out of the library, the book of poetry in his hands once more. His trunk had been hitched to the carriage and soon Fitz is seated on the threadbare velvet bench on the road to London, his head aching and his heart hollow.

It is a long two hours before he starts to finger the pages in front of him, tracing the cover of the book Jemma had given him. It is another hour before he can bring himself to open it, smoothing over the title page and the inscription written there.

 _For Fitz_ , it reads, in looping, lonely letters, the ink smudged blue on the last word.

 _Love, Jemma_.

 

 


	56. tender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for the first prompt of fitzsimmons week, unfortunately the only one i ever filled. i never posted it to tumblr but i thought it was better on here than languishing in my drafts!

 

 

 _Tender (adjective_ ) – gentle, loving, or kind; painful, sore, or uncomfortable when touched.

 

The motel bed is even narrower than the bunks on the Bus had been and so short that when Fitz stretches out his toes he finds that they peek out from under the blanket. He groans, and tips his head back against the pillow.

It had hardly been the plan to crash for the night in this motel, hidden away off the beaten track, when he’d left the base this morning with Jemma, Mack and Elena. But since their SUV was out of action thanks to a Watchdog bomb, there’d been little choice but to check in to two neighbouring rooms and wait for the bus back to civilisation in the morning.

The ensuite door opens, and for a moment a slice of golden light cuts across the pitch black of the room before Jemma switches off the solitary bulb in the bathroom. Fitz hears her pad across the threadbare carpet to the bed and twitches back the blanket for her in anticipation. Jemma’s fingers fumble against his as she finds the bed and he helps guide her onto the mattress.

The springs creak underneath both their weight, and even when Fitz shifts backwards so that he is perilously close to the edge of the mattress, Jemma still has to lie half on top of him.

Clearly, the bed was not made for two.

 Jemma’s nose is cold, pressed against the nape of his neck, and Fitz takes hold of her hand.

‘You’re shivering,’ he murmurs.

‘Mmm,’ Jemma hums in agreement. Her feet, cold as ice, twine around his leg. ‘That’s because it’s cold. Couldn’t you figure out how to work the heating?’

‘Nah.’ Fitz shakes his head. ‘It’s too complicated.’

‘And you call yourself an engineer,’ Jemma teases, and he tweaks her nose. ‘Still, it doesn’t matter.’ She snuggles closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. ‘ _You’re warm_ , in any case.’

Fitz hides his smile in her hair and when her shivers subside, he carefully tips her head towards him to kiss her, slowly, on the lips.

Despite her tiredness, Jemma responds eagerly, answering his quiet passion with her own, and deepening the kiss, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. All of a sudden, their forced proximity works to their advantage as Jemma pushes herself up onto her elbow, her leg slipping between his as they continue to kiss: lazily, luxuriously, lovingly.

They probably would never have discovered that his abdomen was bruised had Jemma not tried to use his stomach to adjust her position.

The sharp shock of pain is so sudden that Fitz actually gasps, feeling his insides cave.

Jemma’s head shoots up and she reaches for the bedside lamp.

‘Oh, Fitz, what is it?’

Wincing, Fitz pushes himself into a sitting position and gingerly raises his t-shirt. The patchworks of bruises spread across his skin are already turning red and purple in a spectacular artist’s palette of colour. Even after years of injuries like this, Fitz still feels his stomach turn.

Jemma’s fingers run over his skin, feather light, tracing the bruises as if they reveal a pattern only she can decipher. Then, she lifts her eyes to meet his and Fitz can see the reproach in her gaze.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were this hurt?’

‘I didn’t know,’ Fitz admits truthfully, pulling his t-shirt back down. ‘I hadn’t even seen them before just now. Since we don’t have a change of clothes with us, I hadn’t taken my shirt off to see.’

‘They must have been from when you fell against those crates when we fought the Watchdogs,’ Jemma muses, taking the material of his shirt between her thumb and forefinger. She rubs it back and forth, worrying at it like a security blanket. ‘I saw you hit them hard. Couldn’t you feel that you’d been bruised?’

‘I felt sore. Tender, I suppose.’ Fitz pushes his fingers between hers to take her hand in his own. When she looks up at him, he tilts his head to one side and gives her a rueful grin. ‘But it’s not as if we’re strangers to feeling like that.’

‘No.’ Jemma sighs, almost wistfully, and half-heartedly returns his smile. ‘I suppose we’re not.’

She lifts his hand to her lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles, her brow furrowed. Fitz squeezes her fingers, both of them lost in musings about the more perilous .

‘We should try and get some sleep,’ he says after a moment. ‘We’ll be up early tomorrow, and you always say sleep is the best healer.’

Jemma chuckles. ‘I do, don’t I?’

She switches off the light and lowers herself to lie back down next to him, curling up onto her side. Fitz notices that now it is she who is lying on the edge of the mattress, obviously trying to give him as much room as he needs. It is such a simple gesture, but it conveys so much care and love that Fitz feels his heart contract. Under the covers, he reaches for her, drawing her closer until their noses just touch.

‘Be careful,’ Jemma whispers, and Fitz can feel her arching her body away from him. ‘I don’t want to hurt-‘

He cuts her off with a kiss, reaching up to run his fingers through her hair. The words Jemma had been meaning to say melt away as her mouth welcome his. Gently, Fitz grazes his teeth against the inside of her lip, feeling her gasp as he does so, her breath hot on his tongue.

‘You won’t hurt me,’ he murmurs. ‘I don’t think you ever could.’

This time, she kisses him, rubbing her thumbs against his cheeks and drawing his face in towards her own. Fitz lets her, splaying his hand out on her back as his fingers find the warm skin of her shoulder blades underneath her t-shirt. Jemma shivers again, this time from desire as opposed to cold, and Fitz feels the heat of her longing in the next kiss she gives him.

Carefully, so as not to catch his stomach with their hands or break away from Jemma’s lips, he slips out from underneath her. Pushing himself up onto his elbows above her, Fitz has a perfect view of the spark that lights up Jemma’s eyes as she realises his intentions.

She smiles, and despite the dark of the room, it is the most luminous thing he has ever seen. When she reaches her arms up towards him, Fitz closes his eyes and allows himself to be lost in the loving tenderness Jemma always gave him with both hands.

 

 


	57. age difference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: the events of s5 suddenly giving fs an age difference

 

 

She is in space again, hurtled ninety years into the future, and surrounded by aliens, fragments of a destroyed Earth and the apparent responsibility of saving mankind from extinction.

And yet the most unbelievable part of all this for Jemma is the fact that, in the middle of the unending chaos, she and Fitz have managed to find the moment of calm that had been evading them for so long back on Earth.

Having followed his postcard clues, she’d been able to decode the exact time and place that he’d be transported to the space station. She’d been chased there by a roach, getting there just in time to watch him tumble out of thin air, just in time to catch him and stop him from falling flat on his face.

‘Jemma,’ he’d said, just before the alien broke the door down.

But they were safe now, back in the warm, red-lit rooms where Deke ran his ‘business’. Both he and Daisy had been cagy about what that business _was_ exactly, and Jemma had a suspicion that it wasn’t anything good, but for once she couldn’t find it in her to be curious. Not when Deke had shown her and Fitz to a small room with a low sofa and a curtain drawn across the entrance for privacy and left them alone with a quiet nod.

In the fortnight since they’d been catapulted into their new lives, Jemma had imagined her and Fitz’s reunion almost constantly. It had been a bitter _déjà vu_ , a familiar coping mechanism from endless nights on Maveth to think about the words they would say, the tears they would shed, how their bodies would fold together as if they couldn’t bear to let each other go.

And yet now that their reunion has come and gone on Floor Three, lost in the terror of the roach attack, Jemma finds that she is too exhausted to remember any of her rehearsed conversations. When Fitz sinks onto the sofa and holds out his hand towards her, she takes it, and allows him pull her down to sit beside him.

She curls against his side, lifting her legs up to place them in his lap and tucking her head against his shoulder. Fitz’s arm snakes around her waist and pulls her closer, until the prickle of his stubble catches against her hair.

Frowning at the discomfort, Jemma lifts her head to tug her hair out of the way and, as she does so, the perspective she gets of Fitz’s face confirms what she’d been starting to guess from his postcards.

Gently, she reaches up and touches the lines at the corners of his eyes.

‘How many years?’

She doesn’t press hard enough to hurt him, but he flinches anyway.

‘Jemma.’

‘Tell me.’

Fitz takes her hand away from his face and kisses her fingertips.

‘Two years, eight months, twenty-two days,’ he says, his lips still pressed to her skin.

Jemma nods, closing her eyes to the tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks, remembering how her two weeks had been beginning to feel like a lifetime.

‘Fitz, I’m so sorry,’ she whispers.

He smiles at her, just barely, and his crow’s-feet deepen. ‘Yeah, I am too. But neither of us have anything to be sorry for.’

The words are so raw, and so filled with honesty and openness, that they feel like a breath of fresh air in an otherwise airless place. Jemma breathes them in and concedes to his silent plea that they don’t mourn that lost time between them, at least for now. They are in each other’s arms again, and for now, that is enough.

Pushing herself forward, Jemma reaches out to tilt Fitz’s face towards her. In almost every way, he looks exactly the same. But when she examines him more closely, she sees that his cheeks are slightly more filled out and the lines on his forehead more pronounced. His beard is thicker, his skin more weather-worn, and when his head turns she sees a fleck of grey in one of his curls.

They are little things, but already she is learning them. Already, she loves them.

Her expression must have changed, because Fitz smiles again, but softer this time. ‘What are you doing? Trying to see if you still recognise me?’

Jemma gives a small snort. ‘Fitz, after all this time I think I’d know you _anywhere_ , whatever age. No,’ she cocks her head to one side, pretending to ponder, and continues, ‘I was just thinking about the possibilities.’

‘Possibilities for what?’ For a moment, Fitz’s eyes flash with a glimmer of his usual humour. ‘Plastic surgery?’

‘No, nothing like that. I was just thinking…’

‘Thinking what?’

Jemma smiles at him sweet as can be. ‘That this means I win the title of ‘Youngest Academy Graduate Ever’, _no_ contest.’

Fitz’s burst of laughter is so unexpected, so joy-filled, that she can’t help dissolving into giggles too. They crease up together, laughing as though their lives depend on it, and Jemma feels a giddiness in her head and her heart that she knows she hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

‘Okay,’ Fitz says, once his laughter has abated enough to let him speak. A tear has trickled into his laughter lines, and Jemma reaches out to brush it away before he does it himself. ‘Okay, Dr. Simmons. I think I can allow you that. I want something in return though.’

‘Oh? What?’

‘My three birthdays you’ve missed.’ Fitz counts them for her on his fingers, his expression mock serious. ‘I want to do them again. Cake, balloons, presents, the whole thing.’

Jemma purses her lips together to keep herself from laughing again. ‘I’m sure we can figure something out, Dr. Fitz.’

‘Not half-hearted affairs, mind,’ Fitz warns her, and Jemma sees the twinkle in his eyes. ‘Full-on birthdays, one after the other. Like a bank holiday weekend-’

‘Yes, Fitz-’

‘We could make it an annual tradition-’

‘Mmm, we’ll see-’

‘Three years’ worth of birthday sex,’ Fitz says, his breath hot on her throat, ‘one night after the other.’

Jemma chuckles, and speaks before thinking. ‘Oh _, trust_ me, that’s one request I’ll have _no_ trouble granting you.’

Fitz’s eyebrows shoot up and she feels herself flush under his scrutiny.

‘Not to say,’ she tries to amend, ‘that you weren’t incredibly attractive to me before, naturally…but…’

‘But?’ Fitz asks teasingly.

‘ _But_ …’ Jemma shifts her weight so she is sitting fully in his lap and loops her arms around his neck. ‘I have to say that those three years have given you a certain… _ruggedness,_ that I am not entirely opposed to.’

‘Really?’

Feeling herself start to smirk, Jemma nods, and leans forward so that her forehead is resting against his, their noses barely brushing. Beneath her, she can feel Fitz’s heart start to pound.

‘Makes you look rather…experienced,’ she murmurs.

‘Oh,’ Fitz says, his voice sounding rather muffled, ‘you have no _ide_ -‘

He is cut off, rather abruptly, by Jemma finally closing the short distance between them to kiss him.

It only takes them half a breath to fall into their old rhythms again, a heartbeat to forget the length of time it had been since their lips had last touched the other’s, and suddenly they are kissing as though they were back in the hotel room in Bucharest, back in their bunk at the base, back in a world of their own.

Jemma feels her skin grow hot as Fitz’s hands slip underneath her t-shirt as he dips forward to deepen the kiss. His touch is gentle over her scars, and it only makes her want him more.

When she starts to scrabble to take her jacket off, Fitz stops her.

‘We can…go slower…if you want,’ he says, already out of breath.

He is saying this for her, Jemma understands; he is saying it in case there is something she still feels needs forgiving, in case there is still something she needs him to do. He recognises that while it has been three years for him, for her it has only been two weeks.

She stares into his face and, behind the additional lines and years, sees the same love she has always known, a love that she knows will never fade.

Carefully, Jemma leans forward and brings her lips to his to kiss him again, longer, slower, and gentler than before. When she pulls away, Fitz has closed his eyes.

‘What?’ she teases breathily, tracing the curve of his cheek with her finger. ‘Was three years’ worth of waiting not _slow_ enough for you?’

The look Fitz gives her as he pulls her down onto the couch beside him could have been enough to piece the whole world back together, one tiny fragment at a time.

 

 


	58. 5x04 coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a softTM imagining of fs's reunion sometime after 5x04

 

 

She will only have a few minutes alone with him; moments, even.

She will have to be calm and composed, and somehow make him understand what has happened to her. They won’t have the time for anything else, no matter how much her bones might be aching for it.

Jemma knows this, and her fingers worry at the hem of a towel on the sideboard as she keeps one eye the wall outside the doorway, watching for a tell-tale shadow.

It had been easy enough to deduce which room had been assigned to him for his stay. All of the other rooms had a body guard or a handmaid standing outside, but Fitz was the only bidder who had come alone. When she and the other slaves had been instructed to prepare a room each, Jemma had allowed herself to move just a little bit faster than the others to reach his room first and slip inside before anyone else could. She has half-heartedly tweaked the bowl of warm water on the sideboard and brushed down the silk sheet on the bed, all without taking her eyes away from the corridor outside.

When Fitz walks in, she doesn’t want to be caught unaware.

She has been waiting for maybe a quarter of an hour before a shadow flickers across the wall, alerting her that someone is coming. Jemma feels her mouth run dry, and she straightens up just as Fitz rounds the corner and ducks into the archway to enter the room.

It takes him a split second to recognise her, and a puzzled expression passes over his features. But then his mask falls from his hand to the floor as his eyes widen and his lips move to form her name.

_Jemma._

Jemma can’t help it. The sight of him, so welcome after days of worrying where he was or if she’d ever see him again, sends all resolutions of self-possession out the window.

Her feet start to move towards him until she is almost running, and then all at once she is in his arms again, clinging to him and feeling him clutch at her in return. Tears blur her already murky vision, and she buries her head into his shoulder as her arms loop around his neck, feeling his frantic pulse beat against her temple.

Fitz’s hold on her tightens and his hands move across her back, pulling her even closer. After a few moments, he lets go and, cupping her face in his hands, starts to kiss every inch of her skin that he can find.

With her tears still wet on her face, Jemma closes her eyes to revel in the sensation of being kissed so lightly and tenderly, in a way that she’d started to fear she’d never be kissed again. Fitz’s lips find her nose, her cheeks, her forehead and her closed eyelids before his mouth finally falls on her own. 

The kiss is hard, and it tastes of salt water and too much longing, but the furious love behind it makes Jemma wish it never had to end. But it does, of course, and once Fitz has reluctantly let her go and has rested his forehead against hers, she opens her eyes and finds he has started to talk.

He is probably explaining his plan to save Daisy to her, or trying to tell her how he has managed to end up here, ninety years in the future after being left alone on earth in an empty diner with seven full plates of pie. Whatever he is saying though, his lips are forming the words too quickly and haphazardly for Jemma to read any of them.

With a sinking heart, she shakes her head.

‘Fitz.’

She can’t tell how loud she says it; right now, she doesn’t feel capable of much more than a whisper.

However loud she says his name, it makes Fitz stop short, as if he can already sense that something is wrong. He lifts his head up and meets her gaze, his eyes scanning her face with worry. His chest is heaving, and Jemma realises he is just as breathless as she feels.

_What?_

The word is simple enough for her to read it on his lips but so thick with the familiarity of his accent that it makes tears spring back to her eyes.

Jemma shakes her head again, a lump in her throat.

‘Fitz, I can’t hear you.’

His face falls, and he frowns, obviously struggling to understand what she means.

‘I can’t hear you,’ Jemma repeats. ‘Not a word. Kasius poured something into my ear and now he can select what I hear and what I don’t. He can turn it on and off, just like he can turn off the inhumans’ powers.’

Something dark flashes behind Fitz’s eyes and he lifts one hand to her ear. All of her hair is neatly tucked back, so there is nothing for him to brush out of the way but he makes the gesture anyway, peering into her ear canal, his fingers gentle on her earlobe.

‘I don’t know how it works,’ Jemma says, miserably. ‘And I don’t know how to get it out. All I know is that it restricts my hearing, and sometimes my sight too.’

When Fitz pulls back, she lifts up her hand to touches his cheek. Her vision bends and sways in front of her, but Jemma manages to give him a watery smile.

‘So, not only can I not hear you, but I can’t really focus on you either.’

Fitz looks pained, and he doesn’t even try to return her smile. Instead, he takes her hand and presses his lips to her palm, his forehead creasing up.

Then, all of a sudden, he snaps upright and lets her go. Patting his hands on his jacket pockets, he seems to be searching for something. This time, it is Jemma’s turn to frown as he holds up a hand to her, mouthing:  _wait_.

She watches as Fitz moves to the table next to the bed, pushing away towels and glass lights. When he turns back to her and mimes writing something, Jemma understands what he is looking for.

She shakes her head. ‘There’s no paper here,’ she explains. ‘The Kree find it a primative form of communication, best left to the humans down below.’ It is hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice. ‘They only use tech, and each bidder brings their own. They won’t have left a tablet in here for you to use.’

Fitz grits his teeth in frustration, and Jemma knows that he is probably cursing himself for not bringing a pad and pen with him. He had no way of knowing he’d need them, no way to foresee this sick twist of fate, but he will be blaming himself for it anyway.

Feeling her heard ache, Jemma holds out a hand to him. 

Fitz crosses the room back to her immediately and takes her hand. He rubs his thumb against her knuckles and this small act, so familiar and comforting, is like a balm for Jemma’s nerves and she feels her shoulders sag as she leans against him.

Soon, Fitz’s thumb moves to the back of her hand and he begins to tap it against her skin, sometimes quickly and sometimes pressing it there for longer. It takes Jemma a moment to realise he is doing it deliberately, and he is half-way through his message before she recognises it as morse code.

Her heart jumps in her chest, and she twists in his arms to look into his eyes. Fitz has one eyebrow raised at her hopefully, and when she nods he breaks into a grin.

‘Start again, though,’ she instructs with a wan smile. ‘I wasn’t paying attention.’

Fitz rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, but does as she’s asked. This time, Jemma focuses on the pattern his thumb is tapping out, and a warmth spreads through her chest as his message becomes clearer.

She is about to interrupt Fitz again, this time to pull him down to kiss her once more, when a movement behind him catches her eye. Across the wall outside the doorway, a shadow is moving.

Quickly, Jemma springs apart from him, turning her back to the sideboard, just as another golden faced slave appears in the corridor. He bows, smoothly, at Fitz and gestures for her to follow him.

Swallowing hard, Jemma composes her face and moves to glide after him. Once her fellow slave has turned to walk back down the corridor though, she takes the opportunity to glance back at Fitz one last time.

He is standing where she’d left him, staring after her, but there is no hopelessness in his eyes, only a determination that Jemma finds she now shares in her heart. 

 _We’re going to fix this_ , he’d told her, and just before she disappears from his sight again, Jemma mouths back the word that completes the promise.

_Together._

 

 


	59. victorian au part ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a follow up to chapter 55, the 'we can never be together' kiss!

 

 

Frost crunches under Fitz’s boots as he makes his way across the park. Up ahead of him the great house of the Simmons estate is shrouded in late winter sunshine; initially, it is obscured from his view but as he draws closer he is able to note how greatly it has changed.

Where once the red brick walls had been in danger of crumbling, they are rebuilt, and look to be stronger than ever. The peeling paint of the window sills has been refreshed, and several of the panes that had spiderweb cracks across them have been replaced with new glass.

Even the gravel path Fitz comes to is new, as are the knee-high beech saplings that are planted on either side of it. As the path leads him up to the front door of the house, he is forced to pause, and take a deep breath, before knocking to announce his presence.

Whoever Jemma ended up marrying, he thinks, must have been very rich indeed to provide for all  _this._

The door is answered by an ageing servant who Fitz knows as having been with the Simmons’ for years, and the man clearly recognises him too. He takes in the expensive cut of Fitz’s suit, as well as the quality of his overcoat, and the corner of his mouth twitches as if he wants to beam with pride.

‘Um…hello,’ Fitz begins, realising too late that he had prepared himself far too little for this venture.

‘Mr. Fitz, if I am correct?’

Once he has replied in the affirmative, the old man steps back to gesture into the great hall, asking whether he would wait in the library while he informed the mistress that he had come to call?

‘Yes,’ Fitz says with evident relief. He had always found Mrs Simmons far easier to talk to than her husband. ‘Yes, please.’

Knowing the way perfectly well, he shows himself into the library. A fire crackles in the grate, a comfort Fitz knew to previously have been considered a privilege in the house. Now, given the heaped basket of wood kept beside it, it appeared to be much more common place.

Standing in the room gives Fitz a strange, bittersweet feeling. It had been here that he’d last seen Jemma, here that he’d kissed her for the first, and last, time. He had held her against the bookcase and felt her mouth imprint against his, and then he had left her, the volume of poetry she had given him a poor substitute for a lifetime together.

Swallowing down his emotion, he steps away from the bookcase to the window, where a small volume lies on the cushions. Fitz picks it up, and turns the book over in his hand. The spine tells him that the author is one  _Leopold James_ , and he allows himself to wonder indulgently whether the book is one of Jemma’s, bought primarily for the association.

The book slips from his fingers as the door behind him opens and a woman walks in. 

She looks older than he remembers; but then of course she would be. She had been a girl the last time he’d seen her, and ten years had passed since then. 

Despite this, however, Fitz finds that Jemma is still the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

He turns to her, his heart pounding in his chest, and speaks without thinking in his surprise.

‘It’s you.’

‘Fitz,’ Jemma replies softly. She is staring at him as though he has just risen from the dead, and Fitz realises that, for her, he probably has. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Oh!’ Recovering from his initial shock at seeing her approach him instead of her mother, Fitz struggles to find his tongue. ‘I, ah, came to visit your parents. When I was told the mistress would be joining me, I imagined-’

‘That it would be my mother?’ A ghost of a smile passes over Jemma’s lips. ‘They’ve gone to the seaside for the season. So, I’m afraid I’m all you’ve got.’

Fitz exhales, and hides his trembling hands behind his back. ‘I think I can live with that.’

 

* * *

 

It feels somewhat peculiar, to sit and take tea with her in the same room that, a decade before, they had kissed their futile future goodbye. So much, Fitz thinks as he watches Jemma carefully sip her tea, must have changed for her since then and he isn’t sure how prepared he is to discover  _how_  much.

Putting down her saucer, Jemma looks up at him. 

‘So,’ she begins, clasping her hands together, ‘how have you been?’

‘I’ve been well,’ Fitz is able to tell her honestly. ‘And yourself?’

‘Perfectly adequate. And what…what have you been doing? Since you were last here, I mean?’

‘I went to America,’ Fitz says. ‘People always say that’s the place to go to earn yourself a fortune. I figured it was worth a try.’

‘And did you?’ Amusement and curiosity play on Jemma’s features. ‘Earn a fortune?’

Fitz shrugs. ‘Not a fortune, not really. But I’ve made enough to keep myself and my mother out of poverty, and that’s…’ He falters. ‘That’s all I’ve ever wanted.’

Something painful flashes in Jemma’s eyes, but she smiles bravely. ‘Good. I’m so pleased for you.’

‘And me for you,’ Fitz replies with equal courage, setting down his tea to look around cordially. ‘When should we expect him?’

‘Expect whom?’

‘Your husband.’ Fitz keeps his voice steady as he says the word, meeting Jemma’s eye over the teapot. He sucks in a breath before continuing, as casually as he can: ‘when will he be joining us?’

Jemma stares at him for a moment before shaking her head, slowly. ‘Fitz…I’m not married.’

‘Oh,’ is all that he can think to say. ‘No?’

‘No. Are…are  _you_  married?’

‘Oh,  _no_.’

‘Oh.’

‘But,’ Fitz cannot help but ask, dumbfounded, ‘if you’re not married, how did you manage-?’

‘To restore the house?’ Jemma finishes for him, and when he nods she smiles, almost to herself. ‘Well, I admit I had a little help with that.’

Watching the obvious affection for her benefactor on her face, Fitz feels a little of the treacherous hope that had grown inside him die. He gulps.

‘Uh, from whom?’

‘A certain author,’ Jemma says softly, and Fitz prepares for his heart to crack in two, ‘by the name of  _Leopold James_.’

Feeling the tears start to prick behind his eyes, Fitz stands abruptly. 

‘I see,’ he manages to say, keeping his gaze on the ground as he begins to pull on his overcoat. ‘Well, thank you for the tea…’

Jemma has stood with him, alarm on her face. ‘Fitz…’

‘And tell your parents I called, won’t you…?’

‘Fitz.’

‘I’m afraid I really must be going, so-’

‘ _Fitz!_ ’

He had tried to step out towards the door, but Jemma had lept in front of him and now barres his way. She places both her hands on his shoulders and forces him to look up at her.

‘Fitz, for goodness sake! It’s really not what you think.’

Fitz blinks rapidly to keep his tears from trickling down his cheeks. Seeing this, Jemma tilts her head at him and reaches up to brush one away with her thumb. It is such an unexpected intimacy that it would have made him start if he hadn’t been so captivated by the intensity in her eyes.

‘Leopold James…is  _me_.’

Suddenly, it feels like all the air has been knocked from Fitz’s lungs.

‘I…I beg your pardon?’

Jemma gives a little huff of breath. ‘ _I’m_  Leopold James,’ she repeats. ‘It’s me. It’s my pseudonym, one my publisher suggested I take if I wanted any success at all. All of his novels…they were written by me.’

‘You’re a writer?’ When she nods, Fitz shakes his head. ‘But… _why_?’

‘Because!’ Removing her hands from his shoulders, Jemma flings them into the air in exasperation. ‘I knew I needed to find a means of providing for my parents, but I didn’t want to get married. This was…’ She gives a deep sigh. ‘This was the only way I could think of to be selfish without ruining them.’

Fitz nods mutely, and takes a moment to comprehend all that she has told him.

‘But…why didn’t you want to get married?’ he asks in a whisper.

‘Oh, Fitz!’ Jemma stifles what might have been a laugh, and Fitz notices that her eyes are shining with tears. ‘Why do you _think_?’

When he doesn’t reply, she takes a step towards him until he can feel all the heat, hope and love radiating from her.

‘Because I’ve never wanted to marry anyone but  _you_.’

In the years that follow, Fitz is never able to say which of them moved first. All he knows is that in one instant they are apart and in the next they are together, never to be parted again.

His hands slide around the back of Jemma’s neck and he kisses her, feeling her clutch at his shirt collar in return. They sway on the spot, their lips eagerly rediscovering the love they thought they’d lost for good.

All at once, it feels like the last ten years have fallen away and they are just a boy and a girl again, kissing for the first time in a darkened library. Except, Fitz thinks as he runs his fingers through Jemma’s tangled hair, there is no farewell in their kiss this time.

Now, as their hands clutch each other close and their lips press eagerly together, there is the impression of a beginning.

‘Marry me,’ he whispers, as soon as they have pulled apart to gasp for breath. Their foreheads are resting together and his cheeks are damp where his tears have mingled with hers.

Jemma gives a watery laugh, and leans forward to kiss the tears away. Her hands on either side of his face are infinitely gentle, and once she has finished, she kisses his lips in kind.

‘I thought you’d never ask.’


	60. childhood friends au with eskimo kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: anything with fs and eskimo kissing!

 

 

‘What do you know about kissing?’

They are flat on their stomachs, face to face, as they lie underneath a sheet propped up by plastic chairs in Jemma’s back garden. So far this afternoon, this makeshift fort has served as a wigwam, a medieval castle, and a rocket ship, and even now Fitz has a vague idea that if he parted the sheet and stumbled out into the sunlight he might accidentally find himself in the wild west, or in the middle of a battlefield, or floating around in outer space.

He wouldn’t put it past Jemma to whisk him so far away from home with a surge of her imagination. Especially when she knows he has to be home by teatime.

Fitz frowns. ‘Why do you want to know?’

Jemma gives a little shrug, and dips her hand into the bowl of blackberries they are sharing between them. 

They had picked them earlier in the brambles at the bottom of the Simmons’ garden, secreting them under the sheet to use them for warpaint, precious jewels, astronaut food. There are purple hand prints on the white cotton above their heads, and the sun shines through them like they are stained glass.

‘Stacy-next-door’s sister has a boyfriend,’ Jemma explains. ‘Stacy says that all they do is kissing, and when I asked what kind of kissing, she gave me a look and said  _you know_.’ She pauses, before admitting, ‘I don’t know, but I didn’t want to tell her that, of course.’

Fitz nods, as sagely as a six-year-old can.

‘So,’ Jemma continues, ‘I thought I would ask  _you_.’

‘Oh.’

‘Fitz?’

‘Yeah?’

‘What  _do_  you know about kissing?’

When Fitz glances up, he sees that Jemma is watching him with her eyes wide and waiting. He likes it when she look at him like that. It makes him feel as though she trusts him.

Using the back of his hand to wipe blackberry juice off his chin, Fitz tries to look knowledgeable.

‘I, uh, know some things.’

Jemma perks up.

‘Could you show me?’

Giddy with pride at knowing something she doesn’t, Fitz agrees. ‘Shut your eyes.’

Jemma obliges, using her elbows to shuffle further towards him. Momentarily, Fitz is distracted and stares at his best friend’s face, closer and stiller than he has ever seen it before. 

There are her freckles, which he thinks look like the dots in their join-the-dot puzzle books. There is the scratch on her chin, where he’d accidentally let go of a bramble branch just as she was walking behind him. There is the blackberry stain around her mouth, sweet and sticky.

Taking a deep breath, Fitz ducks his head and rubs his nose back and forth across Jemma’s.

It lasts for all of three seconds, before he jumps back, feeling suddenly shy. Jemma has screwed up her face, her nose wrinkled. She opens one eye.

‘Was that it?’

Fitz nods, suddenly very interested in the bowl of blackberries. ‘Uh. Yeah.’

‘Oh.’ 

Jemma doesn’t sound disappointed, just thoughtful. Fitz sneaks a look at her face, and can almost see her silently amend her understanding of what a kiss could be.

‘It’s called an eskimo kiss,’ he tells her helpfully.

‘Eskimo?’

‘Yeah. Mum and I do them sometimes. Her nose is always warm, though, yours is really cold.’

Jemma touches the ball of her thumb to her nose and gives a little huff. She rolls onto her back and Fitz does the same, so that their feet are facing in opposite directions but their heads are together. Jemma’s hair prickles his cheek like the grass does, and Fitz sneezes.

‘I quite liked it,’ Jemma muses. She lifts up her arms, her fingers splayed. ‘It felt nice.’

‘Yeah,’ Fitz agrees. ‘I suppose it does.’

He stares up at the sheet above their heads, already counting that kiss among the things they shared: an age, puzzle books, trips to space, purple hand prints. It is theirs, and it makes his cheeks warm to think of it.

‘Fitz?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Promise you’ll tell me first if you find out something new about kissing?’

‘Sure,’ he says, and when Jemma presents him with her little finger he locks his own around it, binding. ‘I promise.’

 

* * *

 

They are lying under another sheet, except this time it is made of silk, it smells of lavender, and it belongs to their bridal suite. If Fitz were to stick his head out of this one, he’d find his suit rumpled on the floor and Jemma’s dress flung onto a chair, and the sun rising on a reality that held just as much magic as their imaginary games once had.

They are married, and he has never felt happier in all his life.

In his arms, Jemma twitches, her body shifting closer towards his own as she drags herself out of sleep. Fitz links his hands around her waist as her eyelids flicker open, her gaze searching and centring on him.

She smiles, and lifts her head to rub her nose against his with lazy affection.

The gesture, so full of love and so reminiscent of a long ago afternoon, makes Fitz grin as he returns the eskimo kiss, pressing his nose tenderly to hers.

‘Do you remember the first time I kissed you?’

Jemma gives a quiet scoff. ‘Of course I do. We were at Stacy’s fifteenth birthday party, playing spin the bottle. You were apologising for  _weeks_.’

‘No.’ Fitz unclasps his hands to run his fingertips across her bare hips, teasing. ‘It was long before that.’

Jemma had closed her eyes in pleasure at his touch; now, she opens them again and looks puzzled.

‘We were in your garden,’ Fitz reminds her, with a kiss to her shoulder. ‘Six years old. Blackberry stains on your mum’s old sheet.’

‘ _Ohh_.’ Jemma’s face clears, and she chuckles, reaching out one hand to pat him on the cheek. ‘Yes, I remember that.’ She tilts her face towards his, so their noses are touching once more. ‘Eskimo kisses.’

‘Eskimo kisses,’ Fitz murmurs back, a delicious warmth flooding his veins. He smiles, as he thinks about all that has happened between them since that moment; he thinks about how much has changed and how much has stayed the same. 

He remembers how clearly he had understood that first kiss to be important, how he had known it was important because they’d shared it together. He had used it as something of a marker ever since, a fixed point like Jemma’s freckles, as something he could always trust to lead him back home.

Now, Fitz brushes his hand against Jemma’s hair.

‘You made me promise,’ he says to her, ‘that if ever I found out something new about kissing, I had to tell you first.’

Jemma meets his gaze, and her eyes are dancing. ‘I did, didn’t I?’

‘You did,’ Fitz confirms.

He shifts their weight, so that Jemma is lying flat on her back and he is leaning on his elbow, one hand holding the sheet above their heads.

‘Want me to share with you what I’ve learnt?’

Jemma laughs, and reaches out to bring him down to kiss her. Her lips are soft, and warm, and Fitz has to wonder if he is still half-dreaming, because they taste ever so faintly of blackberries.

‘Yes,’ Jemma breathes, ‘please.’

Fitz lets go of the sheet in his eagerness to kiss her back, letting it fall around them like a curtain closing on the final scene of a play.

 

 


	61. 5x12 coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: post-wedding feels, and something based on the line 'i can't wait for our next adventure: building a family together'.

 

 

After the small wedding party is over and they have seen Mike off in the quinnjet, Fitz and Jemma make their way to their room, hand in hand. The bedroom they have claimed in the Lighthouse is down the end of a long corridor and, as Jemma finds herself walking down it side by side with her husband for the first time, it feels to her as though it has never been longer.

Evidently Fitz feels the same, because as soon as they reach their door, he is stepping in front of her to draw her in to kiss him.

Jemma feels herself smile into the kiss and as she loops her arms around his neck, the words of the old wedding rhyme spring into her head, not for the first time that night.

 _Something old_ , she thinks, as the familiar feel of Fitz’s lips brush against her own, then, when she feels the cool metal of his wedding ring touch against her neck:  _something new_.

 _Something borrowed_ , she thinks when his hands slip down to her waist and his fingers catch against the antique lace of her dress. When Fitz softly breaks the kiss, Jemma opens her eyes to find him looking at her with pure adoration shining in his own eyes.

 _Something blue_.

‘Brace yourself,’ he warns her, and she frowns momentarily, but when he places one hand around her back and the other underneath her knees, she has to laugh instead, uncontrollable affection bubbling up inside her chest.

With a small grunt, Fitz lifts her up into his arms and, using his foot to kick open the door, carries her over the threshold into their bedroom.

‘This is a little superstitious of you, isn’t it?’ Jemma teases.

Meeting her gaze, Fitz grins. ‘I’m not taking any chances. Not with you, not ever again.’

The conviction behind his words, coupled with the way he is holding her as if she is the most precious thing in the world, makes Jemma feel as though her heart is glowing for love of him and it is all she can do to dip her head to kiss him again.

Fitz kisses her back eagerly, and he bends his knees to let her down as gently as he can. Once she is back on solid ground, Jemma turns her body towards his and wraps her arms around him, feeling them both sway on the spot as their lips dance silently over the other’s.

She can feel something peaceful deep inside her as Fitz continues to kiss her, his lips more loving than anything she has ever known. Everything they had been through together, everything they had endured, had all happened so that this moment, this feeling of complete wholeness, could exist. There were matching rings on their fingers and each other’s names written on their hearts.

They were home.

The joy quickly spreading through Jemma’s body seems to be infectious, because the pace of Fitz’s kisses soon become faster, more passionate. When his hands come up to thread through her hair, carefully untwisting the plaits there, Jemma starts to grin, which makes it rather difficult for them to continue kissing.

‘Careful,’ she warns in a whisper when Fitz’s fingers move to her back to untie her sash, despite the thrill of excitement running down her spine. ‘Watch out for the pins. There’s…’

‘Thirty of them, I remember,’ Fitz murmurs back, and he smiles before kissing her again, so softly that Jemma thinks her knees might give way beneath her. ‘I’ll count them.’

He is meticulous in undressing her in a way he has never been before, removing the pins one by one so that none of them prick her and occasionally pressing his lips to a new part of her skin he has exposed. By the time he has pulled the dress up and over her head, leaving her in just the slip that went underneath, every nerve in Jemma’s body feels like it is burning with desire. When Fitz kisses her lips once more she gives him a slight push backwards so that they both fall gently onto the bed, her legs straddling his lap.

Then, it is his turn, and her fingers work quickly to undo his shirt buttons and belt buckle, all the while not breaking the kiss.

‘I liked your vows,’ she breathes, as he shimmies off his now unbuttoned shirt.

‘Did you?’

‘Mmm. Even though they were factually incorrect.’

Fitz frowns and opens his mouth, but before he can question her Jemma takes the opportunity to kiss him again, feeling his heart race underneath her touch.

‘You  _do_  deserve me,’ she murmurs against his lips, feeling the heat of his breath on her skin. ‘You deserve every good thing that has ever and will ever happen to you, because you’re a good man, Fitz. You’re my husband, and I love you.’

A tear trickles down his cheek, but by the time she has kissed it away he is smiling again and has reached up his hand to trace the shape of her face.

‘And you’re my wife,’ he whispers. ‘And I love you too.’

The next time their lips meet Fitz lets himself fall, so that he is lying on his back with her on top of him. He rolls them over, and plants a string off kisses down her throat to the nape of her neck.

‘I suppose your vows weren’t that bad, either,’ he says casually, his finger trailing down her exposed thigh.

Jemma suppresses a shiver, before shooting him a mock offended look. ‘Not _that_ bad?’

Fitz laughs out loud and ducks his head to kiss her again, long and loving. ‘They were amazing,’ he says between kisses, ‘they were amazing, they were wonderful, they were extraordinary, and they were perfect…’ He finishes by kissing the tip of her nose. ‘Just like you.’

This time, it is Jemma’s turn to shed a tear, which Fitz kisses away just as easily as she his.

‘I particularly liked your line about adventures,’ he continues, turning on his side so that they are lying face to face.

‘Oh?’ Jemma’s heart skips a beat. ‘You did?’

‘Yeah.’ Fitz’s voice has gone soft, and his eyes mist over as he nods. ‘I did. It was just such a nice way of thinking about us. The journey of us getting to where we are tonight has been the most incredible thing I have ever done. And when I think about what you said…’ 

Here, his voice breaks and he has to suck in a breath, but when he looks back at her Jemma can see the hope radiating from his face.

‘When I think about what you said about our next adventure - building a  _family_ together - it just makes me even more determined to figure out a solution for all this time loop nonsense. Because I can’t  _wait_  to start on that adventure with you either.’

Tears well up in Jemma’s eyes again, and for a moment she doesn’t know what to say.

That had been the one part of her vows that she had been unsure of, scribbling it out and rewriting it any number of times, wondering whether it was too much of a hint. But now, seeing the look on Fitz’s face, she knows not only that she had made the right decision, but that the time had come to tell him something very important.

The next time he bends his head towards her, his eyes closed, she puts one finger to his lips to stop his kiss.

‘Fitz?’

He opens his eyes again and pulls his head back. ‘Yeah?’

With a nervous smile, Jemma sits up. ‘I, uh, have a surprise for you. A wedding present, if you will.’

Fitz’s eyebrows shoot up in panic, and he scrambles into a sitting position. ‘I didn’t…I didn’t know that we were doing presents. I don’t have-’

‘Fitz, no!’ With a soft laugh, Jemma reaches out to take his hand. ‘It’s not that kind of present. But I suppose you could say that, in a way, this is a present from both of us to each other.’

He frowns, and Jemma realises with a wave of affection that she is going to have to be more conspicuous. Slowly, she draws his hand across the bed and brings it to rest it on her stomach. She watches as the confusion on Fitz’s face clears, only to be replaced by disbelief and, when he looks up at her, hope.

‘You…you’re…’

‘That adventure you wanted?’ Jemma whispers with a smile, her emotions unable to let her speak any louder. ‘It’s already begun.’

There is a beat, during which she can see Fitz rapidly processing the information she had just given him. But then his face breaks, and he is grinning from ear to ear with the purest joy Jemma has ever seen.

Within a moment, he has her in his arms and is kissing every inch of her face that he can reach. 

‘I love you,’ he breathes, ‘God, I love you, so, so much.’

Jemma gives a laugh which quickly turns into a sob, and pulls his face away from hers to cup it in her hands. She takes in the look in Fitz’s eyes and the smile on his face, committing the image to memory because she knows that, no matter what comes next, she wants to remember this moment for the rest of her life.

‘And I love you too,’ she says, having never meant it more.

It is a few moments before Fitz speaks again, and when he does his voice is quivering.

‘But how…how long have you known?’

‘Only a few days,’ Jemma assures him. ‘And you’re the only person who knows.’

Fitz shakes his head, still looking rather dazed and still beaming.

‘But why didn’t you  _say_  something?’

Raising one shoulder in a small shrug, Jemma sighs, remembering the cascade of emotions she had felt after she’d watched the pregnancy test turn positive. 

‘I had no idea how to go about it,’ she admits, as Fitz laces his fingers with hers, swinging their hands lightly together. ‘It’s hardly the best timing, I know…especially now that we know about Coulson, and everything with Elena - plus the world potentially ending, of course.’

‘You could have told me,’ Fitz whispers, but there is no anger in his tone, only love.

Jemma smiles, and raises their joint hands to kiss his fingers.

‘I wanted to tell you in a special way,’ she says. ‘At the perfect moment. I even thought briefly about announcing it in my vows - briefly,’ she repeats, as Fitz’s jaw drops, ‘very briefly. But it turns out I was rather too impatient to wait for the best moment to come along. I wanted you to know.’

She shoots him a wry grin. ‘After all, I find that we have our best adventures when we’re in it together.’

Fitz laughs, and uses his free hand to draw her near again. His forehead drops until it is resting against hers, and Jemma can feel his heartbeat, beating in perfect tandem with her own.

‘I think,’ Fitz says slowly, ‘that this is going to be my favourite adventure of ours yet.’

Jemma nods, feeling a warmth bloom inside her chest as her excitement for their future joins perfectly with the overwhelming love she has for the man in front of her.

‘Yeah,’ she whispers. ‘Me too.’

With his next kiss, Fitz gently lies her down onto their bed. As they make love for the first time as husband and wife, it feels to Jemma as though their pasts and their futures are converging to create a moment of brilliant happiness that she knows will stay with them, as long as they both shall live.

 

 


	62. fitz meeting his daughter for the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitz meeting his daughter for the first time, but i adapted it slightly. canon-divergent universe where talbot used a real gun on jemma rather than an icer in 5x19.

 

 

‘Talk to me about her.’

Beside him, Fitz feels Deke’s shoulders stiffen. They are sitting together, side by side on the floor outside the med bay, and this is the first time either of them have spoken in what feels like forever.

Deke’s voice is hoarse as he answers. ‘Uh, about who?’

In his lap, Fitz turns his hands over. He has scrubbed them both as clean as he can, but there are still tell-tale red stains on his nail beds. Fingers shaking, he curls his hands into fists and takes a deep breath.

‘About our daughter. Your mother.’

Deke hesitates. ‘Fitz…I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Jemma said it was probably best if I told you guys as little about her as possible, and I don’t want-’

‘Please.’

Turning his head, Fitz meets his grandson’s eye. Deke’s face is pale and drawn, much as he imagines his own must be. He looks younger than he is, and for the first time looking at him pulls at something deep within Fitz’s chest.

‘Please,’ he repeats, hearing his own voice crack. ‘I really need this. I need…’

He bites his lip, swallowing the words he cannot bring himself to say.

_I need to know that we still make it._

It had been less than four hours since the alien siege had begun, less than two since Talbot had ascended with Coulson, and not even one since Elena had radio-ed from the lab to tell them Jemma had been shot.

They’d raced down from the control room as fast as they could but had been too late; Jemma had just managed to explain to Elena what had happened with Talbot before passing out, the blood loss from her gunshot wound too much for her to stay conscious. Now she was having surgery in the med bay, with Piper and Mack having to put their field medic skills to use for the second time in two days.

Fitz draws his hand over his face, trying to ignore the way it is trembling, and does his best not to think about what might be going on beyond the doors in front of him.

He hears Deke sigh.

‘How about  _you_  talk to  _me_  about her instead?’

Pulling his head up, Fitz stares at him in confusion. ‘What?’

Deke shrugs, before repeating: ‘you tell me about her. My mom. You and Jemma’s daughter.’

‘But I’ve never met her,’ Fitz protests. ‘Not in this time loop, anyway. How can I tell you anything?’

Deke gives him a wry smile, the first Fitz has seen in a while. ‘Oh, come on, Gramps. You’ve known that she’s gonna exist for at least seventy two hours now. You mean to tell me you’ve not given one thought since then to what she  _might_  be like?’

Reluctantly, Fitz realises that if he did tell Deke that then he would be lying. And if he wanted to be wholly truthful with this grandson of his, he’d have to admit that he’d given many thoughts to what he and Jemma’s potential child might be like, long before he knew one would actually exist. But the idea of actually expressing any of those thoughts feels so monumental, especially now.

Almost as if he can sense his hesitation, Deke gives him a gentle nudge to the shoulder.

‘Start small,’ he says softly.

 _Small_. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Fitz tries to think of something to say.

‘She’d have brown eyes,’ he says finally. ‘Jemma’s colour. Although they’d be blue when she was first born.’

Deke frowns. ‘How come?’

‘Most Caucasian babies are born with blue eyes,’ Fitz explains. ‘The melanin that makes the different colour develops over time. They’ll get darker as she grows older.’

Deke still looks slightly confused, so he decides to move on.

‘She’d have curly hair, wavy at the very least. And it’ll probably be quite light to start with, maybe even blonde, but then go brown.’

‘Ah.’ Deke nods, trying to look worldly. ‘Because of the melanin.’

Watching him, Fitz surprises himself by starting to smile. ‘Yeah. Because of the melanin.’

Deke draws his knees up and hugs them to his chest. ‘Go on,’ he urges. ‘Tell me more about her. Which of the two of you does she look like the most?’

Fitz considers this, trying to fix on the blurry, light-filled picture of his daughter in his mind’s eye. ‘With any luck, she’ll take after Jemma,’ he says, before gesturing to his face. ‘I wouldn’t want to land the poor thing with this mug.’

‘Oh, definitely not.’

Fitz takes a moment to whack Deke on the arm - lightly, since he was still wearing a sling from his own gunshot wound - before continuing.

‘I hope she’ll get Jemma’s teeth. Mine were awful; I had braces until I was fifteen. Hopefully she gets my eyesight though. Jemma’s blind as a bat, and I can’t imagine the contact lens scheme in the Lighthouse being of great quality.’

Deke’s nose wrinkles up, in a picture perfect imitation of his grandmother. ‘What’s a contact lens?’

‘I rest my case.’

The sound of footsteps coming briskly down the hallway snaps them both back to the present, and the gravity of the current situation. Fitz springs half to his feet, his heart in his mouth, but the agent doesn’t even glance at them as she passes. Instead, she makes straight for the med bay door and ducks inside, carrying a fresh pack of gauze and an IV line. Fitz’s stomach turns over as he slumps back to the ground, feeling more helpless than ever.

Turning to Deke, he notices that the young man is also staring at the door, biting down hard on his lip with a pained expression on his face. If Jemma were here, she’d remind him that the fact Deke was here at all was all the reassurance he needed to know that they were still going to make it.

But, Fitz thinks with an ache where his heart should be, that was completely the point. Jemma  _wasn’t_  here.

‘So,’ he says after a moment. ‘That’s what I think she might look like. Do you want me to tell you what I think she might be like?’

Deke nods and draws his hand quickly over his face, but not before Fitz can see the tears shining in his eyes.

‘Yeah,’ he croaks. ‘Uh, please.’

‘I reckon,’ Fitz says gently, ‘that she’ll be musical.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Deke sounds curious. ‘What, are you going to tell me that you and Jemma play in a band when you’re not busy being super-secret agents?’

Fitz surprises himself by laughing out loud. ‘Uh, no. Jemma’s tone deaf, and I can’t carry a tune to save my life.’ 

He pauses, and when he speaks again his voice is noticeably softer, even to himself. 

‘But my mum’s musical, though. When I was little, we had a school-room piano in our hall and she used to play it to help me get to sleep. And if I woke up in the middle of the night, with a nightmare or something, she’d sing for me, some corny eighties pop song or musical number. I’d like to think that love of music could skip a generation, and that I could give it to her. I think that would be a good gift to give her.’

‘You’re saving the world for her,’ Deke points out with a small smile on his face. ‘That’s gotta be the greatest gift of all.’

His words seem to knock the breath right out of Fitz’s lungs, and for a moment he is speechless, mulling them over. Then, feeling a new-found warmth towards the man sitting next to him spread through his chest, he manages to grin back at him.

‘Are you marking me on this, then?’ he teases. ‘Will I get a mark out of ten for accuracy once I’m done?’

Deke lets out a small huff and opens his mouth, but before he can reply the door of the med bay opens and Piper comes out.

Within a moment, both Fitz and Deke are on their feet and striding towards her.

‘How is she?’ Fitz asks, the blood pounding in his ears.

Piper looks utterly worn out, unsurprising after everything that had happened, but even so she manages to smile and nod. This is not enough to completely untangle the knots of fear in Fitz’s stomach, but it loosens them slightly. 

He steps forward, like his feet are magnets pulling him towards his pair, and Piper falls back to allow him into the med bay.

Jemma is lying back on the bed fast asleep, looking pale and small but alive. Fitz makes his way straight to her side and drops his head to kiss her temple. The feel of her skin against his lips, soft, warm and smelling faintly of lavender, is more reassuring to him than anything else in the universe.

With a deep exhale, Fitz sinks into the chair beside her bed and lowers his forehead to rest it against Jemma’s. He feels the mattress dip carefully, and imagines Deke lowering himself onto the other side of the bed.

‘I don’t need to tell you if you’re right or wrong,’ Deke says quietly. ‘You’re gonna meet her yourself someday.’

 

* * *

 

Almost a year later, Fitz finds himself at Jemma’s side in the med bay once again, although this time it is on a far happier occasion.

It had been ten hours since Jemma’s contractions had begun, eight since her labour had begun in earnest, and just minutes since their daughter had made her debut into the world: red faced, screaming, and absolutely beautiful.

Jemma’s eyes are shining with love as she passes their baby over to Fitz, her tiny nose and rosebud mouth just visible over the blanket she is wrapped in. Fitz takes her, tentatively. 

He’d worried, almost daily in the run up to the birth, that he would be shaking too hard to hold her safely for the first time. But now she is here, and small enough for him to hold in his two hands, he knows that nothing in this world could ever make him lose his grip. She is too precious, and he will keep her safe forever.

In his arms, his daughter gives out a shrill wail, and Fitz feels tears prick at his own eyes as he remembers what Deke had said to him that night outside the med bay and realises that the day he’d been talking about had finally arrived.

‘Hi,’ he breathes to his daughter, tipping his head to be closer to hers. ‘Hi.’

He had spoken softly enough, but the baby hiccups and stops crying almost as if she had heard him. She opens her eyes, and Fitz chokes out a laugh to see that her irises are a wonderful, luminous blue.

‘I can’t wait,’ he whispers, ‘to learn all about you.’

 

 


	63. 3x17 missing scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: 3x17 cuteness after the shut-up kiss.

 

 

She is still smiling as she moves to kiss him again, unable to quash the joy rising up in her chest, but when her lips touch Fitz’s, Jemma finds that he is grinning too.

For some reason, it only makes her want to kiss him harder.

Her finger slips underneath his shirt collar, drawing their bodies closer together while Fitz brings his hands up to skim her hips. As her lips part to allow them to deepen the kiss, he grows a little bolder and lifts her leg across his knees to bring her onto his lap.

A little shiver of excitement runs down Jemma’s spine. How was it possible for something so new to feel so  _right_?

 _Because it’s Fitz_ , she answers herself, without hesitation.  _Because it’s Fitz, and it’s me_.

Fitz has one arm around her waist as he continues to kiss her, his fingers fanning out through her hair. He is paying particular attention to her bottom lip, something that Jemma finds sends a warmth spreading through her, tingling at her fingertips and making her heart pound.

She responds by looping her arms around his neck, shifting their position so she is a little higher than he is. Their noses rub together as they kiss again and Jemma can feel Fitz’s own pulse quicken as their lips press deeper and their skin grows hotter.

Her fingers are beginning to itch with the insatiable urge to begin unbuttoning his shirt, and the realisation of this desire, rising inside her like a wave, makes Jemma gasp.

Fitz takes the opportunity to press a new kiss to her lips, slowly, appreciatively, and when his hands slide down her shoulder blades to rest at the small of her back, playing with the hem of her jumper, she doesn’t even have to wonder whether he is feeling the same way.

They are Fitzsimmons, perfectly in sync once more.

Feeling her breathing hitch and her heart race, Jemma kisses Fitz again, and again, as her hands begin to move down his arms, trembling with anticipation as they made for his belt-

‘Ah!’

The sudden, snapping pain on her arm makes Jemma hiss sharply before she can stop herself. Almost immediately, Fitz pulls back from her, blinking away the haze of pleasure that had fallen across his eyes.

‘What? What is it? Are you alright?’

Grimacing, Jemma brings her left arm between them to examine what had caused the pain. Just underneath the sleeve of her jumper is the cut she’d sustained in the explosion and it is bleeding again. She’d given herself a few hasty stitches earlier but since then had forgotten completely about it, distracted by the afternoon’s dramatic events and this evening’s immersive kisses.

‘I think I pulled a stitch,’ she says, glancing up to meet his eye. ‘I must have caught it on something…’

With a frown, Fitz twists his arm. Sure enough, there is a button attached to his shirt sleeve with a bead of blood on it.

‘Shit.’ His brow creases and he gingerly touches her forearm, as if to help her support it. ‘Jemma, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even realise-’

‘No, no.’ Jemma shakes her head quickly. ‘It was my fault.’ She grins sheepishly, before admitting, ‘I was in a bit of a hurry…’

Fitz looks up at her with a small smile, red splotches appearing on his cheeks, before tipping his forehead against hers. The gesture is so intimate, so easy, that it leaves Jemma just as breathless as their kisses had.

She would have been quite happy to remain like that for the rest of the night, but a drip of blood rolling down her arm reminds her that she can’t.

She lifts her head, giving Fitz an apologetic look.

‘I’d better go clean myself up,’ she says softly, lifting her arm. ‘I need to put in some new stitches too…’

She makes to stand up but Fitz stops her, two gentle hands on her waist as he guides her off his lap and back to the ground.

‘No, it’s okay. I think I still have a kit in here somewhere.’

Jemma blinks at him as he gets to his feet and heads to the wardrobe, rummaging through a rucksack hung on a coat hanger.

‘A kit?’ she repeats.

‘Uh, yeah,’ Fitz says vaguely. ‘A couple of months ago, I needed to do some cleaning up myself. I didn’t want Bobbi seeing and asking questions so I thought it would be quicker for me to take a kit to do in here, instead of in the lab. Aha!’ He turns around, a suture set in his hand. ‘Got it.’

He sinks to his knees beside her and pulls out a wipe. As he presses it cautiously to her cut, Jemma cannot stop herself from scrutinising his face, searching for any fading scars she might have missed before, a sinking feeling in her gut.

She has heard stories, whispers about the six months she was gone, tales about the lengths he’d gone to finding her. None of these had come from Fitz himself, of course. This is the first time he has volunteered any information to her, and she feels strangely shy about it.

‘What did you need stitches for?’ she whispers.

Fitz pauses, before raising his eyes to hers. His gaze is steady, and warm, and honest.

‘Nothing that you need to worry about,’ he says softly. ‘I promise.’

Jemma exhales, and leans back against his bed, allowing Fitz to replace her torn stitch and feeling a sudden surge of love for him inside her. He is being incredibly careful, holding her arm gently and glancing up at her every so often, presumably to make sure he isn’t hurting her. He doesn’t, not for a moment.

‘Thank you,’ she says, once he has finished and is bundling the kit back into its bag.

Fitz shrugs his shoulders. ‘It’s just one stitch, Simmons,’ he teases. ‘I think I can manage that.’

Jemma shakes her head as he joins her, shuffling backwards so that both their backs were pressed against his bed. 

‘That’s not quite what I meant,’ she murmurs.

The look in Fitz’s eyes softens, just as she leans forward to kiss him again. It is a lighter kiss this time, as gentle and careful as his hands had been, and when she pulls back Jemma lets her fingers trail across his cheek, allowing her touch to say all that her words could not.

The way Fitz catches her hand before she can pull it away, linking his fingers with hers, tells her that he hears her and he understands.

‘Well,’ he says a little hoarsely, nodding towards the piles of papers they had brought in to examine what felt like hours ago. ‘I suppose we’d better make a start on this stuff, then? Fixing the problem?’

‘I suppose we had,’ Jemma agrees. ‘Unless you’ve got anything else to do…’

Fitz chuckles, and kisses the top of her head. Behind them, his free arm stretches out across the bed, encircling her protectively.

‘There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,’ he promises.

Their attention turns back to the data and, for a moment, they are so engrossed by it that they don’t notice the ceiling start to rumble or the dust begin to fall…

 

 


	64. fitz noticing jemma's wedding ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fitz noticing jemma's wedding ring for the first time

 

 

It is hours before he notices, hours so full of danger and surprise and the unexpected that Fitz has barely had the time to look at Jemma, let alone notice anything new about her appearance. 

They are alone for the first time since he’d woken up, together in their lab on the Zephyr. Jemma had insisted on giving him a full medical check up, despite his repeated protestations that he feels fine. And, physically, he does. He feels full of energy and highly alert - which he supposes is thanks to the weeks of sleep he’d just had - if a little cold and hungry, but that was nothing a sweatshirt and a sandwich couldn’t cure.

Instead, it is the hot pricks of anticipation curling in his stomach that Fitz is more concerned about, sitting on a work bench and tugging his shirt back down.

As Jemma bends over to fold the stethoscope she’d just used to measure his heart rate back into a drawer, a glint of silver catches Fitz’s eye, drawing his attention. A chain that he has never seen her wear before has slipped out from underneath her t-shirt and is dangling freely about her neck. There are two loops hung from the chain, chinking softly together as Jemma moves.

Fitz blinks, and realises that they are not loops. 

They are rings.

The pricks in his stomach quickly turn into a wave of nausea that he has to swallow quickly as Jemma turns back to him, a blood pressure metre in her hands. As she attaches the strap to his upper arm, Fitz nods towards her neck.

‘I like the rings,’ he says gently.

Jemma freezes, her hand flying up to touch the necklace. An entire spectrum of emotions pass fleetingly over her face, and for a moment Fitz thinks that she is simply going to tuck it away and repeat the words their team has been telling him since the moment he’d woken up: that she’ll tell him everything he wants to know, just not right now.

But then, as if she has made an important decision, Jemma sighs and lets her hand drop again.

‘Thank you,’ she whispers, before looking up to hold his gaze. There are tears hovering in the corners of her eyes, but beyond them Fitz can see an impossible amount of love. ‘They’re wedding rings.’

Fitz exhales shakily, his heart starting to pound uneasily inside his chest as his suspicions rise.

‘Oh.’

Jemma bites down on her lower lip, before reaching up to unclasp the necklace. Anticipating what she is about to do, Fitz cups his hands to allow her to drop the chain and its rings into his waiting palms so he can see them up close.

The two bands are slim, and made of smooth silver, with only a few irregularities in the metal. The smaller of the rings has a sleek, grey stone set in it the size of pip and when Fitz tips his hand towards the light he sees it shimmer.

He whistles. ‘Wow.’

‘What?’ When he glances up, he sees that Jemma is watching him very closely, still nibbling on her lip. Her hands are agitating in front of her, as though his reaction to this matters to her, more than she is willing to say. ‘What are you thinking?’

For a moment, Fitz doesn’t know what to say. He has a million and one questions for her, some that he isn’t even sure she’ll be able to answer, but one look at her face tells him that now isn’t the time to ask them.

Instead, he looks up and gives her a wry smile.

‘I’m thinking that whoever you shared these with must have been pretty amazing, if you made the time to marry him before the end of the world.’

Jemma gives a stifled sob that quickly turns into a laugh, her lips turning upwards even as a large teardrop falls down her cheek. She brushes it away and smiles back at him in a way that makes Fitz’s heart ache.

‘Yes,’ she agrees quietly. ‘Yes, he was.’

She steps a little closer to him and unfastens the blood pressure strap from his arm. When she touches his fingers to bring them down, Fitz opens his hands to allow her to touch the rings once more. He watches patiently, as Jemma brushes over them with her fingertips, care in every caress. 

He swallows down the lump in his own throat. ‘Uh, which one is yours?’

‘This one.’ Jemma lifts up the ring with the gem set in it. ‘The stone is sodium potassium aluminium silicate, otherwise known as a moonstone.’ A smile flickers across her face again. ‘Apparently it’s supposed to symbolise hope.’

Fitz finds himself smiling at this too: of course it does.

‘Then this one…’ He hesitates, before tipping the chain into one hand and using the other to point at the plain ring. ‘This one, it was…his?’

There is a second question hidden inside his first, like a set of Russian dolls. Fitz waits for Jemma to uncover it, watching as she sucks in a deep breath, more tears leaking out from underneath her eyelashes.

More than anything else, Fitz wants to reach out and brush them away, kiss them away, tell her that she doesn’t have to say whatever it is paining her so much to say. But there is also a part of him that knows that nothing good has ever come from them holding back from each other, from keeping secrets and holding on to pain. Once it is out, it’s out. And then they can start to heal from it, together.

‘No,’ Jemma says softly. ‘No, I buried that one.’

She looks up at him and Fitz can see his own thoughts reflected in her eyes even as her lip quivers and she admits the truth.

‘I buried it with you.’

It feels like a dam has burst inside Fitz’s chest and he has to fight down the urge to double over, press his heads between his legs to keep the room from spinning.

 It is not even that this is a shocking revelation to him. He’d started to guess, even from Jemma’s first, bone-crushing hug, that something had gone terribly wrong back on earth, and his reunion with his misty-eyed teammates had only heightened his suspicion. 

He’d guessed that his future self, the one who had gone to sleep determined to save them, had died, yes. But to hear Jemma confirm it was something else. To hear the words come out of her mouth makes it horribly real.

Slowly, he reaches out and takes her hands, folding them between his own. She grips his fingers tightly, as though she cannot bear to let him go.

‘Okay,’ Fitz says, hearing his voice shake as he fights back tears of his own. ‘Okay.’

They stay like that, hands linked and their rings clasped between them, for a long time. At some point, Jemma’s head falls to his shoulder and Fitz shifts his position to accommodate her body between his knees. She fits there, like a missing piece, and he takes comfort in the regular pulse of her heartbeat thrumming through his chest. He knows from the way she twists her face towards him that she is doing the same.

After a while, Fitz lifts his head.

‘Where’d the third ring come from? If that’s yours, and you buried mine…’

Jemma had pulled away at the sound of his voice and as she hear his question she takes her hand away from his, exposing the rings again.

‘This one is yours too,’ she explains, pointing to the plain band. ‘After the burial and once we were on our way to you, I got a little…low.’

Fitz, knowing straight away that this is probably the understatement of the century, nods. He doesn’t even want to imagine what she’s gone through the last few months - his six months in prison had been torturous enough, what must it have been like for her, to know that he was gone, to have buried the evidence, and  _still_  have had to keep fighting?

‘I was grieving,’ Jemma says carefully, ‘and I was afraid, and nervous, but at the same time, there was always something that needed working on or investigated or tested. I couldn’t give up hope.’

She looks up to meet his eye and Fitz, understanding the poignancy of these words, lifts her hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. This appears to give Jemma the courage to keep going.

‘One night, I had the idea of how to reconcile those feelings. I came down to the lab and removed the moonstone from my ring. Then, I melted the silver down, and one of our platinum crucibles too, to mould into two new rings. It’s made them a little thinner than they were, granted, and my silversmith skills are hardly high-class, but…’

She wavers, before giving a little shrug.

‘It was the best way I could think of,’ she says simply, ‘to let go while I was still holding on.’

And, just like that, Fitz sees what she has done. In the heat of molten metal and with painstaking care, she has forged a place for them in this new, confusing and conflicting world. He realises without having to be told that it isn’t going to be an easy place, at least not at first. It will be hard, and at times it will probably hurt too, but it is theirs. It belongs to them. 

And Fitz is ready to step into it with his eyes wide open.

Slowly, he pushes himself off the work bench so he is standing in front of her. When he holds up the chain and raises his eyebrows, a ghost of a smile passes over Jemma’s lips and she twists her head, lifting her hair up off the nape of her neck.

Reaching across her, Fitz fastens the clasp.

‘Keep them safe for us, yeah?’ he whispers, brushing a loose curl back behind her ear as she turns back to him. ‘I get the feeling we’ll be needing them some day soon.’

Jemma has taken a step towards him, her hands coming up to rest on his upper arm. She thumbs the material of his t-shirt, like it is something precious.

‘You’d still marry me, then?’ she asks, her voice aching with the hope that she’d never lost, the hope she’d been carrying around on a chain about her neck.

Ducking his head, Fitz rests his forehead against her own.

‘Absolutely,’ he whispers.

‘Even,’ Jemma says, tipping her face upwards to give him a sly smile, ‘at the end of the world?’

This time, it is Fitz who lets out a laugh, letting the sensation bubble up inside his chest. They can handle what comes next, he vows silently to himself. They can handle anything at all, just as long as they get to do it with their hands and their hearts together.

‘ _Especially_ ,’ he promises, ‘at the end of the world.’

 

 


	65. shrunken jumpers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a fic inspired by elizabeth's instagram story at SDCC of fitz's shrunken jumpers!

 

 

Sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, Jemma raps her fingernails against the steering wheel and sighs. 

She hadn’t expected Fitz to be home before her. He had left the house early that morning to meet Mack in Glasgow, something about an engineering problem the lab techs couldn’t solve. He’d been disappointed that he wouldn’t be with her for her twenty week doctor’s appointment, but had promised he would be back that evening ready to cast an adoring eye over the newest ultrasound pictures of their unborn baby.

So, it had been quite a surprise for Jemma to turn into their drive and see his car parked up outside the cottage. Inside her chest, her heart thumps guiltily.

She’d hoped she’d have a little more time to plan what she was going to say before she had to face him.

Pursing her lips together, Jemma unclasps her seatbelt and opens the car door. As she walks up the garden path, she hears a commotion coming from the kitchen window and frowns. Clearly Fitz wasn’t expecting  _her_  to be home quite so soon either.

‘Hello?’ she calls as she lets herself in, dropping her bag onto a chair by the door. ‘Fitz?’

‘Hey!’ He appears out of the kitchen, pink-cheeked and with an overly wet tea towel held in his hands, which he quickly tosses into the pantry. ‘You’re home,’ he says, stepping forward to wrap her in his arms.

‘So are you,’ Jemma acknowledges, taking the opportunity to peck him on the cheek. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to be back until dinner time.’

‘I know.’ Fitz places both hands on either side of her waist, his thumbs stroking her swollen belly, and smiles. ‘It took me two hours to solve what six lab techs couldn’t in three days. Mack and I had lunch, then I drove back. I would have come to pick you up from the doctor’s but I saw you’d taken your car-’

‘And there was no point in doubling the emissions,’ Jemma finishes for him, returning the smile. ‘Quite right, too.’

‘Was everything okay, though?’ Fitz asks, a flicker of concern crossing his face. ‘The doctor didn’t see any problems with Baby?’

At the reminder of her trip to the doctor’s office and the news she still has to tell him, Jemma’s stomach flutters. 

‘No,’ she says, truthfully, and takes his hand. ‘No problems at all, and I have some  _gorgeous_  new pictures to show you.’ She tilts her head to one side. ‘Why don’t we go into the kitchen so I can make us a cup of tea and we can look at them together?’

‘No!’

All of a sudden, the concern on Fitz’s face is replaced by a brief expression of panic, and he steps forward to block the door to the kitchen.

‘I’ll make the tea,’ he offers when he sees how he has surprised her with his outburst. ‘You should go sit in the garden and put your feet up. I’ll bring it out to you.’

Jemma’s suspicion rises. ‘Fitz,’ she says sternly, ‘what’s going on? What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing!’ he protests. ‘I just thought it would be nice to have our tea in the garden for a change, that’s all.’

‘Then we’ll make it,’ Jemma says, easily sidestepping him to enter the kitchen, ‘and go out there together? Deal?’

Fitz doesn’t seem convinced, but he follows her anyway. Shaking her head slightly at his odd behaviour, Jemma makes for the kettle, but only gets as far as the kitchen table before Fitz lets out a yelp.

‘Jemma,  _wait_!’

He grabs her underneath her elbow, steadying her on her feet, and when Jemma glances down she sees that if he hadn’t she’d have slipped on a puddle of water emerging from underneath the table cloth and gone flying.

‘What on  _earth_ -’

With one hand, she lifts up the table cloth to peer under the table. There, she finds the laundry basket, filled with sodden clothes and sitting in a slowly expanding pool of water. Looking up at Fitz, Jemma raises an eyebrow.

Her husband sighs deeply, and reaches down to retrieve the basket.

‘I got home early,’ he explains, as he heaves it up to place it on top of the table, ‘and I wanted to get some chores done before  _you_  got home. You’ve been so tired recently, I didn’t want you to have to worry about watering the garden or cleaning the bathrooms tonight. So, when I saw there was a load of washing to do, I put it in the machine.’

‘And?’ Jemma prompts after a moment’s hesitation.

Fitz sighs again, and lifts an item out of the laundry basket in answer. It had once been one of his favourite jumpers, but now it has shrunk so much it could have fitted a toddler.

Jemma clamps her hand over her mouth to stop herself from bursting out laughing.

‘Oh,  _lord_ , Fitz…’

He doesn’t seem quite as amused as she is, and he continues pulling jumpers and cardigans out of the basket, all of them substantially shrunk. His mouth is down-turned as he presents them to her.

‘I think I put them on too hot a wash,’ he says forlornly.

‘I think maybe you did,’ Jemma agrees, as a warm rush of affection for him fills her veins. 

Taking his hand, she shuffles around the puddle of water at their feet to step into his arms again. Smiling, she presses her hands to his cheeks and lifts his head to make him look at her.

‘But I love you for doing it,’ she says softly, ‘and for trying to make things easier for me. Thank you.’

A ghost of a smile passes over Fitz’s lips. ‘Always,’ he murmurs as he wraps his arms about her middle, her bump pressed between them. He kisses her forehead, and Jemma closes her eyes, leaning her head against his shoulder to enjoy the feel of his heart beating against hers.

‘I suppose I’ll have to take them down to the charity shop,’ Fitz says after a moment or two, nodding down to the jumpers.

‘Oh,’ Jemma says, the seed of an idea blooming in her chest, ‘I don’t know about that…’

Fitz snorts. ‘Oh, come on, Jemma, be realistic.’ He picks up a shrunken cardigan and holds it to his chest. ‘There’s no way this will ever fit me again.’

‘No,’ Jemma admits, ‘probably not.’ She takes the cardigan from him and, with a deep breath, holds it against her bump. ‘But, one day, I expect it will fit our son.’

She bites her lip and waits, watching Fitz’s face as her words sink in. He looks from her, to her stomach, and back again and the realisation dawns.

‘It’s…we’re…’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jemma says apologetically, reaching out to take his hand. She is still holding the sopping wet cardigan, and when she squeezes his fingers, water squeezes out of the wool too. ‘I know we said we didn’t want to find out the sex, but the OB didn’t change the screen fast enough and I caught a glimpse.’ She lifts one shoulder helplessly, and gives him an anxious smile. ‘It’s a boy.’

‘A boy,’ Fitz repeats, dazed. Then, he grins, a beautiful, ear-splitting grin that goes right to Jemma’s heart. He laughs, and brings his forehead close to hers. ‘We’re having a boy!’

His excitement is infectious and Jemma finds herself laughing with him. Fitz places one hand on the back of her neck and draws her closer. he kisses her, and his lips taste like joy and love and  _home_.

‘Sorry for ruining the surprise,’ Jemma whispers when they pull apart. Fitz shakes his head, and rubs his thumb against her cheek.

‘Don’t be. Now that we know, I’m so happy that we do. And besides,’ there is a spark in his eyes as he nods to the laundry basket, ‘now I can get started on shrinking the rest of my clothes so that I can share them with our son too.’

 _Our son_. Jemma smiles, allowing the words to wash over her like a spell of sunshine on a cloudy day.

‘How about this?’ she suggests, taking both his hands in hers. ‘If you make me that cup of tea you said you would, _and_  promise never to wash wool over thirty degrees again, I’ll let you look at his ultrasound pictures.’

Fitz grins broadly as he leans down to kiss her again.

‘Sounds perfect.’

 

 


End file.
